An Era of Kings
by RobbTheStark
Summary: Three hundred years after Aegon the Conqueror built a new empire on the ashes of the Valyrian Freehold the known world is a place of war. The Targaryen Empire is pressed by enemies, the Seven Kingdoms war amongst themselves and forces contrive to pull them all apart. Amidst all this are a prince and princess who fear themselves ruined by the horrors they've endured.
1. Chapter 1

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN A SONG OF ICE AND FIRE.**

 **THE FOREST OF QOHOR**

Fires burnt here and there, the feast of flames continuing long after the battle was done.

The dense forest of pines and spruce, once a sea of deep brown bark and thick green canopies, had been devastated by the fighting. Swathes of this hinterland had seen their ancient trees felled for use by the defenders. Many of the trees that still stood were now blackened, bare husks of their former selves. Burnt by the hundreds of flaming arrows and burning pitch fired to and fro. Others suffered from the boulders flung by catapults, branches and greenery cleaved away or trunks torn to shreds. Some leaned against their brethren like wounded warriors, not yet ready to join their comrades already littering the ground.

The number of fallen trees could not compare to the hundreds of very real corpses spread out across this immense battlefield. Men and horses sprawled amongst the tree stumps, others crushed beneath the branches of trees collapsed during the fighting. Not all were fresh, for the fighting here had lasted more than a week, and in some places the freshly killed now piled high atop the rotting dead.

The dead buried by the dead, Jon thought grimly, amidst all this madness that makes a sense of sorts.

The dark rider took in all this with a grimace, for he had an excellent view of the lands around from this ruined fort. Built upon a small hill in the midst of the forest, the timber fort held a commanding position overlooking one of the main trails through forest. Hence why the Dothraki had fought so hard to take it.

And killed so many in doing so.

The timber palisades and ramparts of the fort were thick with the dead. A glance to the sharpened stakes surrounding its edges showed dead Dothraki and horses impaled upon them. There were more about the breech the horselords had forced in the palisades when they'd torn them down with rope and the strength of their mounts. This fort was but one of many hastily built to throw back Khal Drogo's advance through the forest to Qohor.

The Qohorik who manned this fort knew what would happen if the Dothraki reached their city and had died to the man to prevent such a thing. Arrow riddled bodies were common, a few had arakhs buried so deeply their wielders had abandoned the weapons in their victims. A last stand had been made towards the center of the fort, the Qohorik dead laying atop one another at the base of one their shrines. A goat sacrifice still rested on the altar, rotting and riving with maggots. Offered perhaps in hope of salvation from their gods.

For some help to arrive before the Dothraki broke though. For Jon do to as he promised.

It was a sad thing to watch his men riding through the gates to join him here, for the men of Qohor had likely hoped for such a sight only yesterday.

"Poor bastards." Ser Brynden Tully spoke in his smoky voice, the elder Westerosi warrior shaking his head as he dismounted. "One more day. If those palisades had only held out one more day. Reminds me of the Sack of Harrenhal."

"These are foul times indeed to think such horrors so common." Thoros of Myr added, the warrior priest urging his steed around another dead mount. "May the Lord of Light greet these men with the favor they deserve."

"They deserved more than that." He said quietly, his men ignorant to his words.

Jon turned away from bloody mess around him to take in the sight of his men. He didn't care for how Thoros's bright red cloak suited the bloodletting that had been done here. The red priest stood out among those riders entering the fort, for most were garbed in a much darker way. The Blackfish lived up his moniker, his cloak and boots as black as the dark chainmail all in this company wore. Jon wore such mail himself, though beneath a heavy chest plate engraved with the images of dragons and wolves.

This was how the Dark Order had dressed since its founding two hundred years ago. For while the Targaryen Empire brought light to all it ruled the Dark Order ensured its enemies could find no shelter in the shadows. Other imperial legions sworn to the High King were usually ten thousand strong, a mix of cavalry and infantry. The Dark Order was far smaller, numbering only a few thousand, yet what it lacked in numbers it made up for in other ways. Unlike some other legions, those within the order did not need to be born of the empire and thus many foreigners, chiefly Westerosi, came to find their way to serving the High King. The order was entirely mounted, its reach and speed far greater than other legions, able to meet foes far and wide in defense of the empire.

Such was how Jon had even come to be in the midst of yet another slaughter.

He'd been in Braavos, negotiating with the Sealord alongside his great uncle, Prince Aemon, only a month ago. A welcome respite from the near constant warfare Jon had seen in the last five years. He could no longer count on his hands how many campaigns they'd waged across the realm and it exhausted him as much as the empire itself. It was a fine thing to come to the Free City of Braavos to use words rather than swords.

That all ended when word arrived from Qohor of impending doom. A Dothraki khalasar, forty-thousand strong and led by the dread Khal Drogo, was heading their way.

The High King commanded the Dark Order to aid the far flung city and Jon, as its Lord-Commander, had heeded the call of the empire once more.

What is one more campaign to me? Another pile of dead at my feet? More blood on my blade?

In the three weeks since they'd joined Qohor's defenses he'd seen the most brutal warfare of his twenty years in this world. Thousands had died in the Forest of Qohor, the imperial armies doing their best to bleed the Dothraki rather than meet Drogo in outright battle. The outcome was far from certain when, only yesterday, the Dothraki had suddenly left the field.

Allowing Jon the chance to finally answer the calls for aid he'd received while battling the Dothraki elsewhere. So he could see the terrible cost his strategy had wrought upon the Qohorik. As he walked about the bodies, young and old alike, he cursed himself for sending these men here in the first place.

"This wasn't your fault Jonarys." Thoros came to his side, speaking his given name as the red priest often did during darker moments. "You are much like the High King, your shoulders slump with the great burdens you place upon them."

"Aye my lord." The Blackfish stepped over a Dothraki body, spitting upon it. "Qohor would be a burning ruin right now if it wasn't for your plan. These men came here to save their home, they knew the risks and died for a good cause."

"It's a wonder more aren't dead." He shook his head, moving back towards the breech and gazing out at the Dothraki dead at the base of the hill. "Half the forts were overwhelmed, we were being pushed back on every approach, Drogo was winning. So why do we stand here victorious?"

"Might be we bled him more dearly than he expected." Pello the Greenbeard said, the Tyroshi warrior pulling at his dyed whiskers. "Or he caught wind of the reinforcements coming from Norvos…"

"Or our prayers were merely answered." Thoros added and the older knight laughed.

"Considering how many gods we all pray to it's about time one listened."

"We'll know more soon enough." Jon pointed down to the forest trail, at a small number of black riders approaching along it. "Gendry's patrol returns. Let's learn what Khal Drogo is up to."

He hoped his friend would bring word the horselords were heading back to the plains of the Dothraki Sea. That this most recent invasion of the empire's frontier was already at an end. Before all this he was meant to report back to his father's council and share what progress had been made with the Braavosi. His mother more than any had urged him to make a swift return, for their adversaries at court had been emboldened of late.

Lyanna Stark was many things but fearful was not one of them. Jon was her only child and best defense against those in the empire who disdained the High King's spirited second wife.

Especially when she champions unpopular causes, he thought, only my mother would attack a blight on the empire's honor even Jaehaerys the Good could not overcome.

While his father's empire was truly the finest realm in the known world, filled with great works of beauty and splendor, it was built on the back of slaves. When Aegon the Conqueror returned to Essos with the might of his dragons he rebuilt the former Valyrian Freehold for better and worse. Within the Targaryen Empire toiled thousands upon thousands of slaves from all corners of the world. Slavers travelled far and wide to fill the empire's hunger for servants, even raiding the lands of the Seven Kingdoms.

Jon's mother had been taken in such a way. She'd been travelling aboard a ship bound for the Kingdom of the Storm to marry its king when the slavers attacked. Her brother, Prince Brandon, heir to the King of Winter, fell in defense of his sister. Princess Lyanna was so vengeful in her grief that when the slaver captain came to her she bit his ear clean off. The slight was not forgiven, his mother made a slave rather than being ransomed as was customary.

Mother spoke little of her time in captivity, save with pride at how she and her fellow slaves bided their time to stage a revolt aboard the ship. The bloody rising of the slaves against their masters was successful yet served to cripple the vessel, leaving it at the mercy of the seas or whoever else stumbled upon it.

Father said a strange wind blew that day and still believed it was the gods themselves guiding his imperial dromond to the drifting ship. By law any escaped slave found on the seas was subject to the will of whomever discovered them. Yet when father's men boarded the vessel they found the surviving prisoners armed and defiant, his mother at the fore.

"She was a vision, a dark beauty with a fierceness I'd never thought to find in one so lovely." Father had told him. "From the moment she threatened my life she became a part of it. I cannot say who captured who that day, for I have been under your mother's power ever since."

Although father decreed that all the slaves could remain free and arrangements would be made for their safe journey home, Jon's mother had declined to leave him. Spurning the betrothal arranged by the Starks and her home itself, Lyanna Stark would become his father's wife only a month later. His second wife that is, for Prince Rhaegar was already wed to Princess Elia Martell of Dorne at High King Aerys's behest. The Targaryens had long taken multiple wives and were free to choose their brides, unless the groom happened to be an heir.

His father had been pronounced heir only half a year earlier and his marriage to Lyanna caused upheaval at the imperial court. Even now, more than twenty years later, Jon still felt the effects of his parents' defiance.

As child he was infamous. The product of a union between a Targaryen prince and a Westerosi slave. The second born son of a king who only gained the throne following the murder of his father. Many even whispered Jonarys had been born the same day Aerys was brought low though his mother swore it was a lie. Wherever he went that reputation preceded him. Some nobility turned up their noses at Lyanna Stark's son while slaves bowed, out of respect for his mother's status among the downtrodden.

One of those who held his mother in such esteem met Jon at the foot of the hill, where the majority of his men and horse awaited. The scouts were led by a large, well-muscled man with coal black hair and bright blue eyes.

"My lord." Gendry hailed him, climbing down from his horse, pressing a fist to his chest. His dear friend only ever acted so formal when they were in front of the men, for the two were as close as brothers. They'd surely been raised as such.

"Sergeant." He nodded. "What did you learn?"

"We followed their trail to the edges of the forest." Gendry replied, looking about as many others hung on his words. "They are not regrouping like we feared, the khalasar has left the frontier. Heading back east into the Dothraki Sea."

"Khal Drogo defeated!" The Blackfish shouted to a raucous cheer from the men. "The order prevails! The order prevails!"

"The order prevails!" The men chanted boisterously. "The order prevails!"

"Glory to the empire!" The Summer Islander Black Balaq roared and his words too were echoed.

Yet he could not join in the cheering, for they had not truly defeated Khal Drogo. Something about their sudden departure filled him with unease. Nor did he much feel like cheering while those he'd sent to his death rotted ne

arby.

Gendry put a hand to his arm then, his eyes scanning the fort before offering him a sympathetic look.

"Jon, brother, let me see to the burying of the dead. We shall honor them like the good men of the empire they are. Let it trouble you no more."

"That's just the problem my brother." He answered. "That they were good men. We bury far too many good men these days."

"It's getting so only the vile and corrupt stand to inherit my father's realm."

"We must have peace… a lasting peace."

"If only for the sake of good men."

WINTERFELL

Every eye in the castle watched the party enter. The guardsmen and servants lined the battlements and yards did so. As did loyal retainers and the royal family itself, all staring silently as their king was returned to them.

The wagon rolled through the gates, pulled by a team of horses and flanked by an escort of mounted warriors.

All held spears with the banners flying limply, the grey direwolf of House Stark on a snow white backing. The men holding the banners were grim faced and somber, even by northern standards. From where Sansa stood with mother and the others, the line of riders seemed endless. The wagon was halfway across the courtyard and still the men came on.

Sansa spotted many she recognized among their number. Helman Tallhart, Ronnel Stout, Halys Hornwood, Galbart Glover, Medger Cerwyn and his son Cley.

Yet she saw few of the men who had left with her father months ago.

No Martyn Cassel. No William Dustin. No Mark Ryswell.

It was only when the wagon drew close did she get a glimpse of her father. Or what they carried him within, a coffin of the darkest oak.

For Eddard Stark was dead.

The King in the North. Lord of Winterfell. Her beloved father. Murdered.

Cersei swore I'd never be safe from her wrath, she thought bitterly, Joffrey told me there was no end to the pain he would cause me.

Father tried to protect me from all that… so they killed him… oh father…

"Father!" Rickon sobbed, her eight year old brother making to run to the wagon before mother took hold of him.

"Hush sweetling." Mother whispered, pressing Rickon's weeping face into her middle, embracing him as tightly as Sansa wished to be held herself. "We must be strong now… strong for your father. Strong for Robb."

Rickon continued to weep, his bushy red hair shaking back and forth as he tried to deny what they all had known for weeks now. Arya bore it far better, her little sister's face as cold as block of ice, her grey eyes as hard as men twice her ten and five years. Bran was trying to act the same, yet even the lanky young man he'd become struggled to hold his chin high, a single tear rolling down his cheek. No matter how strong they tried to act Sansa saw the pair holding each other's hands.

No one held Robb's hand, nor could any if they wanted to. Her brother's powerful hands were clenched into fists at his side. With his strong jaw set and his auburn hair and beard cut as it was, save for the Tully coloring, Robb was every bit father's son. Draped in the furs and wools of the north the softest thing about her older brother were his eyes. For nothing could hide the anguish in them when father's wagon came to a halt before them.

Father's bones were just steps away and it was a struggle to hold her place.

Once she might have bawled like Rickon did, perhaps even faint. Yet that time was long gone. She'd been through enough torture and pain to learn how to control her emotions. Or at least how to hide them.

Your father's dead, you must show grief, she thought, but some of these visitors could be traitors.

Show no feeling and they won't know how to hurt nothing at all.

Her clothing showed little of anything. Sansa held a wolf skin cloak tight around herself, hiding her figure from the lecherous eyes of men. Beneath it was a simple grey gown that hid every bit of skin it could save her face. If there was one truth Sansa had learned it was that her body brought out the beast in men. At times she wished her breasts would shrink away or hips would grow thin or too wide, or that she was a haggard crone of eighty rather than a maiden of ten and eight.

Those selfish thoughts fell away as two men broke off from the escort, both dismounting in front of them. One was a weasel faced young man wearing a tunic with a quartered coat of arms bearing twin blue towers on grey and three red chevronels. The other man was a far more familiar and welcome sight.

Jory Cassel, her family's trusted shield, held something in his hands hidden by a pelt of wolf's fur. He carried it straight towards mother and Robb, dropping to a knee at their feet, showing no concern for the mud he sank into.

"Queen Catelyn." Jory rasped. "I served your husband. I fought for your husband. I failed your husband."

"You did no such thing Jory." Mother shook her head, gently moving Rickon towards Sansa so she could take her little brother in hand. She pulled Rickon to her side, drying his eyes with her sleeve while Jory held up the fur-covered object.

"I couldn't save my king, but I wouldn't let those scum claim his body. Or his crown."

A ripple of whispers and quiet words went through those watching as mother reached out to pull aside the furs. Beneath them was a thick circlet of hammered bronze, dented and scratched here and there. The runes of the First Men were etched along its length and rising from its sides were nine black iron spikes wrought in the shape of swords.

This was the crown the Kings of Winter had been wearing for time untold. The crown her father had worn since she could remember. The crown he'd died for.

Sansa remembered how mother would lift it from his brow to rub her fingers over his worried head. Whether touching her father or handling his crown, mother had always done so with gentleness and care. She did the same now, her hands trembling only the smallest bit to take the crown in hand and hold it before her. Mother's own crown was a slimmer band of bronze lacking any decoration save a wolf's head of the blackest iron.

"My husband is dead." Mother spoke loud enough for all to hear. "The King in the North is dead but his line survives."

"The pack lives on!" The Greatjon bellowed, his face red with anger. "The Starks endure!"

"The Starks endure!" An echoing cry came from the crowd, Arya and Bran joining it. Sansa merely clutched Rickon all the tighter.

How much more can we endure? How much more suffering can my family take?

Can I bear anymore?

"King Eddard left an heir." Mother spoke as she turned to face Robb, crown in hand. "Winterfell is yours, my son. The Kingdom of the North is yours, its troubles are yours. Winter is coming Robb, if you have the strength to face the cold winds and the winter snows, speak so now."

"On my vow I do." Robb answered, voice gruff and loud despite his low tones.

"If you mean to honor the legacy of the Stark kings come before you, your father's legacy, speak so now."

"On my honor I will."

"If you are worthy of the weight of this crown, bend to accept it."

Robb did not hesitate, kneeling in front of mother and bending his head forward. With a summer chill in the air Robb's breathing came up as clouds of white mist. When mother lowered the crown through those clouds they became steam in Sansa's eyes, the bronze a fiery brand.

The sounds of a terrible sizzling and her own screams filled her ears as a pain from years ago came back all at once. A horrible pain and shame, a cruel laugh haunting her memory.

Her grip on Rickon tightened so that he hissed in pain, pulling her back from the past to witness Robb being crowned here in the present. The crown sat well upon her brother's brow, his auburn hair like a field of fire the bronze was being reforged within.

"The crown is yours." Mother stepped back. "Rise and let all see you carry its weight. Rise and begin the reign of Robb Stark, King in the North."

When Robb stood, back straight and chin raised high, the Greatjon pushed his way to stand before him. The gigantic Umber lord pulled free a monstrous greatsword, holding it upwards and kneeling down.

"The King in the North!" The Greatjon roared, causing Rickon to jump in her arms. "The King in the North!"

"The King in the North!" Jory echoed and a hundred others did the same, all drawing swords and kneeling too.

"The King in the North!"

Hundreds now shouted and knelt, Ser Rodrik Cassel joined the lords Hornwood, Karstark and Cerwyn in offering up their blades. Every rider of the escort and guardsmen in the castle did the same. Even young Bran drew his blade, which had never seen battle, and held it up to Robb after while his place in the mud.

"The King in the North!" Arya and Rickon took up the call but Sansa could not find the voice to do so.

For she had been paying attention to her mother's words. The crown gave Robb more than just a kingdom, it gave him its enemies as well.

The Greyjoys. The Gardeners. The Lannisters. The Durrandons.

Joffrey and Cersei are bad enough. Tywin Lannister is a man all Seven Kingdoms fear.

My father could not stand against all of that, how can Robb?

When the cheering died away and everyone was on their feet again the man who'd rode in with Jory pulled something from his saddle. A large sheathed blade Sansa recognized as her father's Valyrian steel greatsword, Ice. Carrying the sword forward with a lowered head and hesitant steps, the mysterious southron man was introduced by Jory.

"My king, here stands Olyvar Frey, son of Lord Walder Frey. He and his brother Ser Perwyn were among your father's party when we were ambushed. Without their efforts I would not be standing here today, King Eddard's bones and sword lost. The brothers Frey defended us in our efforts to rescue all, Ser Perwyn falling in service to his king."

Robb crossed the rest of the distance between the Frey and himself, grasping Ice but not moving to take it from the man's hands. Instead he bid Olyvar to meet his gaze, which Sansa found full of sympathy.

"Your brother's name shall be known to all northmen." Robb said. "His sacrifice does honor by House Frey. That you stood for my father when I could not means I owe you a great debt Olyvar. I shall bestow upon you a knighthood. If there is any more I can do for you, good man, speak to it and surely I will see it done."

"I ask for nothing your grace." Olyvar spoke quickly, clearly unready for Robb's gratitude. "My brother died as a subject of the Starks. I only ask to honor his death and my fealty by serving as your man, however you'd have me."

"Then my man you shall be." Robb nodded, looking down to Ice and tightening his hold upon it. "But I shall offer you a vow as well, Olyvar Frey. The same I swore my mother, my brothers and sisters and I swear now to my father."

With that Robb took the sword handle and while Olyvar held the sheath he pulled the greatsword free. The dark and smoky color of the steel made Robb's hair and eyes look all the brighter.

"On the blade of my ancestors I so swear to have vengeance on those who have wronged us." Robb spoke through gritted teeth. "Justice for all those killed by Lannister treachery. I shall not rest until Ice is red with the blood of lions."

He looked to Sansa then. "And stags."

Robb meant well but her face burned. That her family all looked to her then was bad enough. When countless others did the same she lowered her eyes and released Rickon to pull her cloak all the tighter. Trying in vain to hide her shame.

It was horrid to feel thankful when Robb commanded father's journey continue on to the crypts, for it stole the attention from her. This was a far less public honor, for while her family led the procession to the crypts only the highborn and dearest servants of House Starks were permitted to follow.

This was not how Sansa wished to welcome father home. He was meant to ride back through the gates and find her there, thankful and happy. She was to embrace him and feel safe in those strong arms once more.

Nothing good ever comes of us going south, she thought,I told father that… I told him not to go…

Once Sansa had felt much differently. Years ago, when she was young and naïve, her mind filled with songs of southron knights and romantic songs. It was her dream to one day be a queen of a kingdom in warm, flower-filled lands. A dream she thought had come true when the Durrandons came to visit. Her father and the Robert Durrandon were old friends, having fought side by side to drive the krakens from the riverlands. Ever since the North had ruled a swath of the riverlands, joining the kingdoms of the Storm and the Reach in dominion over parts of those rich lands.

While mother described the south as a place of great beauty King Robert was not much to look at. Fat and sweaty as he had been Sansa was unimpressed by the southron king, yet his heir had been the very image of a prince. Joffrey Durrandon took after his Lannister mother in all ways, golden hair, bright green eyes and a handsome face. To hear of her betrothal to Prince Joffrey was a sweet thing, that she would be going south with the Durrandons the answer to all her prayers.

Yet the gods were cruel.

Things had gone well at first, her prince acting kind to her while a tad harsh towards smallfolk and his own siblings. Those were the first signs of the monster Joffrey truly was yet Sansa was blind to it. That all changed when King Robert died in a hunting accident and Joffrey took the crown himself. War had been brewing, the Durrandons and Starks set to ally against the Kingdom of the Reach and take full control of the riverlands. Sansa knew Queen Cersei preferred Robert ally with the Lannisters instead and disdained how much land he meant to share with the Starks.

Joffrey went back on all Robert's pledges, demanding nearly all the land they were set to win and parts of the riverlands already held by the North. Still not content, Joffrey commanded the Starks to fight for him, to help crush his uncles Stannis and Renly, who had raised up claims to his throne.

Father's stern refusal of Joffrey's demands led to her first ever beating. Joffrey had his sworn swords take out his wrath on her body.

It was merely the beginning of her torment. Every loss or setback Joffrey suffered in his mad rule was visited upon her through beatings and worse. The small retinue mother had sent with Sansa to Storm's End were murdered before her eyes. Joffrey had forced her to stare up at Septa Mordane's head on a spike twice. Once when it had only just started to rot and the crows had been at it. The second after a storm had stripped half the greenish flesh from one side.

Nothing was too sadistic for Joffrey. She was beaten until her body was a tapestry of bruises. Stripped naked to the jeers of men. Taunted with lies about her family being murdered.

The war went so badly for Joffrey she feared he would kill her before any rescue would come. For two years that hell dragged on and her hope struggled to survive. It was at her worst that a hero saved her, the most unlikely of men. Now, years later, Sansa believed Sandor Clegane had been a hero all along. The Hound might have served Joffrey, his life one of violence and cruelty, yet he never struck her.

In the end, it was he who showed her mercy. Sandor Clegane who showed more nobility than any of the knights who witnessed her torment.

Sandor who rescued her. Sandor who cared for her. Sandor who showed her there were still good men in the world.

And how unforgiving the world is towards them.

There was no denying that as she watched father's remains sealed within his tomb. While scores of torches had been brought down with them into Winterfell's crypts somehow the darkness persisted. It hid along the edges of the granite pillars holding the earth above their heads, behind the nearest statues carved into the likenesses of dead Starks. The shadows loomed behind her grandfather Rickard and uncle Brandon, father's statue now joining them in this damp, chilly place.

Words were said, rites observed, yet all Sansa could think of was once it was all over the darkness would be back. They would leave and father would stay, buried here in this cold, dark place.

Such was why, when everyone else made to leave, she stayed put. Mother was too bereaved to remain any longer, Arya and Bran each holding one of her hands when they left. Jory enfolded a weeping Rickon into his arms, leading her little brother away. One by one the Starks and their allies made to leave the crypts until only the king's two eldest children remained.

"It doesn't look like him." Robb spoke hoarsely. "The statue… that's not father. Not the one I knew."

He was right. While the stone mason had certainly done a good job in capturing a strong, stern looking king, one with direwolves curled at his feet and a bronze sword laid across his lap, Sansa could never name it her father. His stone grey eyes too unfeeling for the king who had shed a tear to be reunited with her. His face too hard for the father who kissed a daughter's head when it was full of worries. His skin too cold for the man who embraced her before leaving Winterfell for his trip south.

"It's just a statue." She replied, wiping away a tear. "Just some stone thing father rests beneath. It can never be what he was to us… what I remember him as…"

Robb grunted and made to run his hand along the bronze blade on the statue's lap. She watched as his shoulders slumped, his head shaking as he did so.

"This is my fault." Robb choked out. "It should have been me to go. Me who died, not him."

"The Boltons needed to be dealt with." She reminded him. "Their rebellion had to be put down and father trusted no one more than you…"

"No, no you don't understand… father didn't just go south to treat with the river lords. He went there for me." Robb turned to face her then, anguish etched across his face. "Father was going to treat with the Gardeners. Trying to secure a peace between us, an alliance of both of our kingdoms. It was a secret, at least it was meant to be..."

"That doesn't make sense." She said. "Father held nothing but disdain for King Mace. Ever since the war when he let Tywin Lannister march through their lands to ambush our army…"

"That's true." Robb nodded. "But he hated Tywin and Joffrey more, we both did, for what they did to you. We both wanted justice for you and everything points to the Lannisters and Durrandons preparing for war again…"

He made fists at his sides and cursed beneath his breath.

"It was my idea, the alliance with the Gardeners. Princess Margaery was unpromised and I suggested to father that I marry her. It was me who pushed him into seeking allies in those soft flowery bastards…"

It wasn't that much of a surprise to hear this. All knew father's southron bannermen stood between Tywin Lannister and his goal of uniting the Rock and Storm kingdoms. Pinkmaiden, Raventree Hall, Seagard, the Twins, all begged for men the Starks just didn't have. Even her uncle Edmure, Lord of the River Marches, warned that if the Lannisters marched Riverrun could fall.

Which was believable since her father was killed while travelling through their own southern holdings. Such was the power and reach of the Lannisters.

Yet Robb's admission spoke to something more sinister.

"The Gardeners betrayed him." Her hand went to her mouth. "That's what you're saying isn't it? They told the Lannisters father would be coming."

"They swear they didn't." Robb spoke through gritted teeth. "As Maester Luwin tells it the raven proclaiming father's death barely arrived before one came from Willas Garderner. The Greenhand prince swearing up and down they were outraged by all this."

"Not so outraged they called off Margaery's betrothal to Joffrey." She felt a cold creep up in her, for that arrangement had followed father's murder as well.

"The bastards." Robb trembled with rage. "Prince Willas pledges peace between our families now but what's that mean to me? Two kingdoms set against us instead of three? Is that the great feat I sent father to his death for?"

"Robb you couldn't have known-"

"I should have!" He yelled, his cry echoing throughout the crypts like the ghosts of old agreed. "I have to know these things! I'm the king now, I have to protect all of you! The kingdom itself! The prince who got his father killed!"

"They killed him Robb, not you." She tried to take hold of him but he backed away, half hidden in shadows now. "You heard the lords out there, all the people, they believe in you."

"Belief doesn't mean victory Sansa. Else I would've broken through the gates of Storm's End myself and saved you before Joffrey…" Robb's face lowered and the darkness hid his expression, just as she tried to block out what he spoke of. "It makes me furious to think that monster is set to marry and lords turn up their noses at you…"

Let them, she thought, better still have them ignore me altogether.

All men can smile but they can be monsters all the same… I cannot bear to be given to another…

"There must be war." Robb's voice came from the darkness. "Against Tywin and Joffrey both. Our bannermen north and south scream for it. With the Boltons rebelling and the Arryns fighting amongst themselves father felt a war coming, that's why he listened to me. Mother says I should make peace, offer our enemies all our lands south of Riverrun but I can't do that. We'd look weak. Those families we'd be giving away have fought hard beside us, against the Durrandons and Lannisters both… I can't betray good men.

"Good men are betrayed every day." She looked to father's statue. "They die long before their time… and I don't want you to be among them Robb. The last time father and you fought against the Lannisters you had the Arryns to help. Stannis and Renly to distract Joffrey's armies…."

"And now that's all gone. Gods Sansa, you do take after mother." Robb sighed, leaving the shadows to behold father's statue at her side. "She said the same thing so let me tell you what I told her. Surrender is not an option. Neither is defeat. We win or we die."

"We can't win. Not alone." She pleaded. "Two years Robb. Two years I spent alone with those people. Surrounded. Outnumbered. I escaped because of a good man. A friend. I'd be dead and buried if not for him… and we all will be if you try and stand alone…"

Robb suddenly took hold of her arms and jerked her about to face him. "You will never be alone again Sansa. Never again. I won't let you or any of the others die because of me. I'm not being proud, I know if I try and fight the bastards alone we're doomed. That's why I've asked for help."

"From who?" Sansa asked as she remembered being held by Sandor once in such a way. Though she'd felt smaller in his arms, for he had towered over her while Robb and she could look eye to eye. "The Martells?"

He shook his head. "They're in a bad way too. No, it's the Starks in danger so it's a Stark I reached out to."

"What can Uncle Benjen do?"

Their beloved uncle was in White Harbor with his wife Wynafryd Manderly and their children. While always welcome guests here at Winterfell Sansa saw little Benjen could offer, for his command of the Stark fleet amounted to only two score galleys.

"Not our uncle." Robb corrected. "Our aunt."

"Aunt Lyanna?!"

It was Sansa's turn for her words to echo through the corridor, as if the name Lyanna was a shock to the spirits as well. Many here in the North spoke her name in hushed tones but to Sansa her aunt had always been a magical figure. Saved from slavers to wed the most powerful and famed prince in the known world, it was safe to say Sansa had aspired to living a story as romantic as her aunt's. She'd even played at being Lyanna as a child.

Yet none of them had ever met the High Queen of the Targaryen Empire. Truly all they had knew of her were stories told by father and Uncle Benjen.

When Sansa left the crypts alongside Robb she had more than stories to go by, and more than fears to haunt her.

Robb had to host a morose feast in the Great Hall for their visiting lords but didn't force Sansa to attend. She was thankful for that, the dampness of the crypts had found its way within her gown so now the garment felt wet and heavy against her skin.

The mood of the castle was more somber than usual. Every servant or guard she passed on the stairs of the Great Keep looked glum or offered words of condolences. When she opened the door to her chambers a welcome sight greeted her, the first one in hours. Upon her bed, filling the entire breadth of it, was a large grey direwolf.

"Lady." She smiled, for no matter her mood, the wolf could always make her smile. "Oh you lot chose a horrible day to stray from our sides."

The wolf cocked her head, those golden eyes locked on Sansa as she came to sit upon the bed and wrap her arms around Lady's neck. The beast responded by sniffing and licking at her face, whining some as her desperate hold dragged on. Sansa couldn't help it, for the direwolf never failed to give her strength. All her siblings had been wroth to find their wolves disappeared a few days past. It wasn't unusual for the five to leave the castle, they often did so whenever the sixth of their number appeared outside Winterfell's walls.

The Ghost the smallfolk called it. The albino direwolf that never fit in at Winterfell like the others had. The runt who went unclaimed by any of the Stark children and had run out the gates as soon as it was old enough to. Father predicted it would die without its pack yet sightings persisted and every few moons the white wolf would appear. Each time the silent spectre somehow bid his brothers and sisters to join him for a run about their lands which lasted for days.

Such was what happened only days earlier yet Sansa was happy enough to find Lady returned to her.

"I always feel safer with you here." She kissed Lady's snout as she rose from the bed. "If only you'd come to me before I'd gone south. You would've smelt the rot on Cersei and Joffrey from the start."

Lady whined at that, almost in sympathy, yet she could not blame the wolf. The pups had been found after her return to Winterfell so there was nothing Lady could have done to protect her. Not like she did now, for the wolf was one of two people Sansa could ever undress in front of.

With her gown covering so much of her skin its dampness made it to uncomfortable to bear. Once Septa Mordane or others would've helped her undress but that was a time long gone. Only mother had ever viewed what Sansa now displayed to Lady as she stripped.

Sansa's body was slender but her hips were wider and rear full enough that men turned their heads to watch her pass. Her breasts more than filled her hands, round and firm as they were, topped with light pink nipples she thought matched the hue of her lips. In the dark Sansa could pretend this was all she was.

She knew better though and the light of her chambers left no mistake of the painful truth. The scars were few and small but there nonetheless. Three thin lash marks upon her back, a handful of pale marks where blades had cut upon her chest and stomach.

"Nothing that mars your beauty." Mother had said of those marks. "Nothing a good man won't be able to ignore."

Yet even mother had struggled to speak kindly of the worst of her scars. The one burned into the back of her right shoulder. The dark image of a stag, etched deep into her flesh by Joffrey with a red-hot brand. Three men had held her down for Joffrey to scar her in such a way, the vile creature laughing through her screams and the sound of her searing flesh. A fourth man had been among their number but his protests had earned him a rebuke and dismissal from the cruel occasion.

She'd been lost to a world of pain and burning for days afterwards, for her golden tormentor had forbidden the maester from dosing Sansa with milk of the poppy. That time had been a haze of agony, cruel green eyes and sickening laughter.

Yet when she regained her senses she found herself free of all that torment.

For her protector, the only man in Joffrey's service never to strike Sansa and the only one to oppose his branding of her, had somehow spirited her away from the castle.

"Quiet now little bird." The Hound had warned when she awoke upon a small rowboat to find the scarred warrior rowing them along the shoreline. "You save your strength. We've a long way to get you away from the flames."

Sandor hadn't lied. Their escape from Storm's End began a months long flight through the south. Always heading north in hopes of somehow finding the northern army. She'd been fearful in Sandor's clutches, for he was often gruff and harsh with her in speech. Yet when it came to cleaning her wound or carrying her through rough terrain, his tenderness betrayed Sandor's true self.

"You're a hero." She'd said one night, Sandor nearly choking on a squirrel he cooked for them. "You're my hero… a true knight…"

"I'm a man cooking a squirrel." He'd grumbled back. "A hero would've kept you from being burned."

"But you saved me." Sansa had answered back and the man grimaced again.

"For gold. Your family will pay me most like." Sandor lied, for he often demanded payment of another kind from her. "Sing for me, little bird. Sing me a song that makes me forget how ugly I am."

Sansa liked to think she'd never sung more beautifully. For she spent weeks singing her dear protector to sleep each night. Willing that her lyrics would somehow reach the kind man who cared for her so dearly. That he could accept them where he rejected her words.

Or her body.

They had found an inn near the Blackwater during a stormy night. After two months together it was the first time the Hound had not pretended Sansa was his daughter when they took the last room. Their clothes had been soaked through. The fire small, its meager flames offering little warmth. Both had stripped themselves down yet only Sansa lay upon the bed. The Hound resting his naked body on the floor, claiming with enough wine he'd survive the night.

She offered him blankets and he rejected them. She offered him the bed itself and he rejected it. She became so desperate to save him from a chill he'd awoken to find her laying beside him on the floor. A blanket thrown over top of them both, their naked bodies pressed together.

Sandor had been so lost to the drink it felt like an eternity to her before he finally opened his eyes. For she'd been alive with a feeling deep within her, one that kept her hips pressed against his side and her heart pounding in her chest.

"Little bird… what the fuck are you doing?" Sandor had asked in a raspy tone, yet as soon as his eyes found hers she'd done what she'd wanted to do for weeks.

She kissed him. His unshaven cheeks were rough and his breath stunk of wine but Sansa kissed Sandor with all the love she could bring to bear. While lightning crashed without and thunder boomed above the man who could've broken her in two accepted her kiss. Again and again Sansa had kissed him, her lips and cheeks raw and her skin on fire, yet the most Sandor did was steady her shoulders as she did so.

Until her leg rose up and brushed against his manhood. A hard, thick thing which sent a shiver through her body. As soon as she'd done that Sandor came alive, nearly throwing her aside like he did the blanket. He lifted her up in his powerful arms and laid her down in the bed, leaving her naked body open for his eyes to take in. When lightning flashed without she was given the same opportunity.

Sandor's massive body had bulged with muscle and his chest was thick with dark, coarse hair. His manhood had the same thick thatch of hair about it though her eyes were locked on the size of the staff which stabbed out at her. Once Joffrey had a team of stable boys enter her chambers at night, naked and stiff in such a way. Her screams of terror to find them standing over her had amused him and thankfully he'd derived as much delight from denying them her body as tormenting her with the threat.

Something Sandor had tried to deny himself as well.

"I can't." Sandor had rasped as he looked down at her. "I'm a monster but not this kind of monster…."

"You're no monster." She'd answered, reaching for him, tears in her eyes at how much she wished to be with him. "Please Sandor… love me… love me like I love you…"

The man who denied his true self did not deny her then. It had hurt, she knew it would, yet it was a hurt she was willing to take for him. Sandor was soft and gentle with her, refusing to move without Sansa urging him to. The pain never truly went away but it dulled, which made seeing and feeling Sandor's great pleasure all the better for her.

When he reached his release Sansa nearly wept to see the look of unfiltered happiness on her love's face. Never had his scarred eye opened in such a way that she saw joy in it and Sansa had kissed him hard to ensure that moment lasted as long as it could.

Yet their time together was not to last much longer. Not a day after Sansa and Sandor made love, her head full of names for their future children, Joffrey's men had come upon them.

That was when the Hound appeared again. He was one against six and Sansa could do nothing but scream in terror as he met their challenge. Sandor Clegane was a hero, she'd known that for some time before watching him overcome such numbers. Yet even a hero could not survive the wounds he took. She was no healer and he said it wouldn't matter, he was doomed. All that mattered to him was getting her as far as he could. Sandor held on for three days after the fight, each day more agonizing than the next.

Until the morning they awoke and neither Sansa nor Sandor could lift him onto his horse.

"This is it then." Sandor had winced as he collapsed against the base of an oak tree. "Time for the little bird to fly free."

"I can't." Sansa wept, burying her face in his neck and making to lift him again. "Please I need you… you saved me… we're in love and are going to be married…"

"Never." He'd pushed her away. "I'd never wish that on you… if I was all you make me to be you'd not have that mark on your back… I'd have given you that mercy…"

With that he'd kissed her, a soft, tender kiss. One that ended with him pressing a dagger into her hands.

"And now I beg you for a mercy little bird. A song and some mercy. A good end to a bad life."

She'd argued of course. She'd wept and screamed but it was all for naught. Sansa was not strong enough to lift him. Nor was she strong enough to deny him.

It was a cruel thing. Hundreds of times before Sansa had imagined killing Joffrey. In the end though she killed the man who saved her from that monster. To spare the man she loved any more pain she found the strength to press a blade into his heart.

A day later Lord William Dustin, who knew Sansa from birth, found her filthy and weeping next to a recently dug grave.

Such was how Sansa came to be returned to her family. It was also why she remained unmarried to this day.

For while none knew she gave up her virtue to a good man, all knew an evil man had branded her as his own.

And as Sansa gazed at her naked body in the looking glass of her chamber she felt content to accept such.

Joffrey may have branded me but I gave myself to Sandor.

A good man… of a kind I'll never see again…

With a hand to her heart Sansa willed it the beating thing to turn cold. For it could never beat as powerfully for a man as the one she had already lost.

For Sandor Clegane had been a man like no other.

THE HEARTLANDS

The Targaryen palace of Summerhall was a beacon of beauty and power unlike any other.

That was truly saying something, for these lands were already splendid in their own right. The Heartlands were called such for good reason, for they laid between three of the empire's greatest cities. Lys, Myr and Tyrosh, the three daughters of Old Valyria, all sitting along the edges of this fertile region. Once, in the anarchy following the Doom, those cities had fought bitterly for control of the lands separating them. That time had long passed though, in the peace to come during the Targaryen reign the so-called Disputed Lands proved to be the richest and most fruitful of the imperial domains.

Such was why the Heartlands were chosen to build the new home of House Targaryen in Essos, Summerhall. While the High Kings ruled the empire from its capital in Volantis it was at Summerhall they raised their families. The magnificent palace had been built using dragon flame and white stone quarried from far away lands. Three tall towers rose high into the skyline, the Towers of Visenya and Rhaenys being shorter, the tallest being the Aegonspire. Dotted with wide windows and balconies, each was topped with massive stone dragons. Their wings spread apart while their mouths snarled into the sky, beacon fires burning bright within those massive jaws

Below the towers were a number of pale keeps and spires of various purposes, many with terraced gardens and reflecting pools jutting out from their sides. To Jon it was a mark of vanity to have private pools and gardens in such a place. For Summerhall sat along the shoreline of a wide, tranquil lake. Surrounding it were green fields and lush orchards that stretched so far that Jon had been riding through them for the better part of an hour before finally reaching his family's home.

A month after leaving Qohor he was finally able to heed his parents' summons. He rode with only a score of his most loyal retainers, for no army was allowed within five leagues of Summerhall without the High King's invitation. His friends rode the closest, Gendry and Greenbeard to his right, the Blackfish and Thoros to his left. They made quite the impression on the field tenders they passed, many rising up from their work to stare. When some recognized Jon they smiled widely and cheered.

"The Free Queen!" They shouted. "The Free Queen!"

He raised his hand up and wondered how many of these folk were free due to his mother. For mother had long ago convinced father to free all the slaves tending these fields. In truth his father no longer owed any slaves himself, unlike other members of House Targaryen.

As his horse clattered upon the smooth Valyrian road leading to the palace gates he wondered which of his family might be gathered within. There were some Jon hoped to find there, others he wished far away.

When they passed through the gates and into the wide, cobbled courtyard of Summerhall its splendor took him aback. After years of harsh living the many golden statues and tall fruit trees made him feel like he was unworthy of such a place. That was until he noticed the beauty who was waiting to welcome him.

Queen Lyanna wore a blue gown of silk bound together by a pair of bronze rings, her skirts trailing far behind her. She treated her hair much the same, for it fell well below her shoulders in a cascade of dark brown, the color of the rich earth of these lands. Some said mother's grey eyes were cold but Jon had only ever found warmth in them.

It felt good to see little had changed.

"My boys!" Mother cried out happily, arms open wide at the sight of Jon and Gendry. "I shall have Rhaegar strip you both of all your glories for staying away for so long."

"It was not by choice your grace." Gendry sounded abashed. "I swear it."

"The Dothraki don't bend to the will of mothers." Jon added, quickly dismounting so Gendry could do the same, an act of courtesy he had told the sergeant to forego.

When their feet hit the ground the queen gathered both into a warm embrace, as she had done since they were young boys. Gendry's cheeks turned red, for his friend was as embarrassed by mother's display as Jon was. Mother knew this yet hugged them all the tighter.

Gendry had come to them when he and Jon were just about eight years of age. Mother had been leading him through a slave market at Volantis, showing him the crippling suffering of the poor souls, when they'd come upon a young boy being beaten mercilessly by a slave master. Mother had watched it with a mix of disgust and rage, for even queens had no right to interfere in such matters. Yet when the boy began pleading for mercy in the Common Tongue of the Westerosi she'd been driven to act.

Sending the slaver off with sheer ferocity mother had tended to Gendry herself. She'd paled to take note of his appearance, proclaiming she'd known a king once of such features. Gendry's story came out soon after, for he was the bastard born son of the Storm King himself, Robert Durrandon. He'd lived a life of relative peace as a blacksmith's apprentice until he drew the ire of the Storm Queen, Cersei Lannister. One night her agents came and took Gendry away from the blacksmith he apprenticed for, putting him on a ship to be sold into slavery.

In exchange for his cheap price the Storm Queen had attached only one condition to Gendry's sale.

"Please m'lady." Gendry had wept from the pain of his beating. "I've done nothing to no one save be an apprentice… they won't let me be one here… they say I'm pretty enough for the pleasure houses… I don't know what those are…"

"Hush child." Mother had gathered Gendry up into her arms, earning the protests of the slaver. "I have never let gold pass between myself and the vile flesh traders. Yet I shall do so now, if only to pay a debt I owe to Robert Durrandon. No matter if he never knows it."

Such was how Gendry came to join their family, for mother refused to simply have him sent away. She'd bought his freedom and felt responsible for him, thus Gendry had been raised side by side with Jon, becoming the brother he always wanted.

Even though he already had a brother by blood. A fact which bid him to interrupt his mother's gushing kisses upon Gendry's and his face.

"Mother, please, we're warriors not children." He broke away, his face growing stern. "Who else is here? I heard tell the Golden Legion was camped south of the lake."

Mother's good cheer fell away and the face she wore for dire matters took its place.

"They're all here. Every dragon there is to speak of, for either good or ill." She sighed, waving forward some servants to see to their horses. "Come, your father has called together the Council of Heralds to hear your reports of the frontier. Your men should come as well, Viserys and Aegon have brought theirs."

"As you will it." He nodded to the Blackfish and the others. "Prepare yourselves for a stare off with the Golden Legion."

"Splendid." The Blackfish grinned. "Been a boring ride."

As his mother led them along the marble walkways and silk curtained halls of the palace he noticed something different in her. He'd missed it in the joy of the reunion yet now there was no missing the dark circles beneath her eyes. When she caught him looking, her smile appeared forced.

"Mother? What has happened?" He asked and immediately saw her forming excuses. "Don't hide things from me. We've been apart too long for that."

"I wanted to wait." Her words barely above a whisper, her hands wringing in worry. "Word came from across the Narrow Sea. The Winter King is dead… my brother Ned has been killed."

"Eddard Stark?" He felt his mouth go dry for he knew the name well.

My Uncle Eddard, mother's favorite brother, he recalled,whenever she spoke of the North's strength, of northern honor, it was his name she invoked.

"Eddard Stark was a good man." The Blackfish spoke gravely. "I only met him twice but there were few men better your grace."

"I'm so sorry mother." He stopped their steps, taking hold of the queen and kissing her brow with care. "You called him a great man and I always thought to meet him… I hoped to at least…"

"He would've loved you Jon." She said, cradling his face, blinking away tears. "I blame myself for not visiting years ago, I only hope his children can forgive the lateness of my arrival."

"Arrival?" He pulled away in surprise. "What are you-"

"Nevermind." Mother interrupted, clearly done with the topic and urging him along once more. "It is something we shall discuss later, it is unwise to keep the Council of Heralds waiting."

He wished to comfort his mother but there was no arguing against her reasoning. The Council of Heralds had been a power unto itself since the end of the Dance of Dragons. Appointed by the High King for life, and composed of the most powerful and wise men of the empire, it was the council and only the council that could name the heir to the Targaryen crown. No title existed in the empire save one bestowed by the High King himself, even that of princes and princesses. The king could propose any Targaryen he wished as heir but unless they gained the approval of the Council of Heralds, the king's favor meant little.

In his father's reign the council had only grown more powerful, for it was they who had ushered in Rhaegar Targaryen's reign in the first place. When his heir married a freed slave High King Aerys had declared Prince Rhaegar's life forfeit, promising to kill not only his son but his wives and all their children. In this Aerys ran afoul of the council, for it was in Rhaegar they put their faith in. That council had seen the prince as the most capable to right all the wrongs Aerys's madness had wrought in the empire.

The die was cast after Aerys had Rylar Rogarre, a member of the council, burned alive for speaking in Rhaegar's defense. During their next meeting, with Aerys feeling imperious, the council members drew their blades and cut the king down. It spoke to Aerys's unpopularity that none of his sworn shields raised a blade to avenge him.

When they arrived at the council chambers it was the white-cloaked warriors of the Highguard who permitted them entry. His men were forced to join the press of other armed men gathered in the corridor, a score of Highguard warriors keeping watch over the different factions. He and mother were only allowed one companion each and so it was that Gendry and Ser Brynden who joined them in stepping through the doors.

The room was wide and circular, with open windows and tall pillars around the edges. At its center stood a table carved in the shape of the Valyrian Freehold, a table the royal family joined its councillors in standing around. Chief among them was the tall, black garbed High King. A golden crown sat upon his father's heard, a long mane of silver-blonde hair flowing beneath it. His dark indigo eyes flashed to spot their arrival.

"Jonarys." His father smiled to see him, a rare thing. "Thank the god Balerion you are well my son, I feared so to send you against Khal Drogo."

"I serve you and the empire, no matter the foe." He answered, which earned a scoffing laugh from another at the table.

His uncle Viserys looked much like the king, save being shorter and slighter of form. Where Rhaegar exuded power and authority, Viserys oozed vanity and disdain. It said something about his uncle's character that Viserys commanded no legion of his own. He'd been forced to raise his own company from the slaving elements of the empire, the Brave Companions they were called. Though Jon found little bravery in hunting down escaped slaves or raiding other lands to enslave others.

If any here captured the strength of the High King it was Aegon, Jon's brother. Powerful in bearing and displaying most of the Targaryen features, Aegon set himself apart from their father by keeping his own pale hair cut close to his head. His brother was clad in black and gold silks and offered a curt nod in Jon's direction. Beside Aegon stood his wife, and their sister, Rhaenys. Black haired and olive-skinned, the princess took after Queen Elia in looks yet differed from her mother in other ways. Her gown was bright red, an amber pendant shaped into that of a flame hanging about her neck. Rhaenys's conversion to the red faith of R'hllor had driven a rift between Aegon and his wife, so that even now there was notable gap between them.

None caught the eye more than the young woman now striding Jon's way. His father's sister was of an age with him and their relationship had never been one of aunt and nephew. While he took notice of the Daenerys's bright smile his eyes drifted to take in the rest of her beauty as well. She wore a revealing purple gown, her lovely hair unbraided and bouncing along with her bust as she came to embrace him. Far shorter than Jon, he was able to rest his chin upon her head as he held her tight.

"It's been far too long." Daenerys whispered. "I missed you Jon."

"I missed you too Dany." He kept himself from kissing her head, for they were already acting shamefully enough in front of the others. "I think you've shrunk."

She slapped him across the face, light enough to spare him harm but loud enough to draw a snort of laughter from his friends. With a hand to his cheek he gaped as Daenerys returned to her place at father's side, shooting him a look over her shoulder full of mischief.

Compared to Daenerys the councilmen were drab, uninteresting figures yet Jon took note of them nonetheless. There were the usual noblemen representing the great cities of the empire including Illyrio Mopatis of Pentos and Lysardo Rogarre of Lys. The great fleet admiral Sallador Saan shared a whispered word with Varys, the eunuch seneschal, all while his ancient great uncle Aemon moved his sightless eyes all about the room.

"Jon, your arrival is fortuitous." Aemon nodded shakily. "The Sealord of Braavos sails to Volantis, to conclude the peace we worked so hard to reach."

"And gave too much away for." Viserys spoke haughtily. "Aegon the Conqueror wished to rebuild the Freehold, not let parts of it slip his grasp."

"Braavos was never under the sway of Old Valyria." Aemon noted. "Founded by the enslaved in defiance of our ancestors, they take pride in their independence."

"A slave is forever a slave in my eyes." Viserys looked to mother as he said such. It was a foolish thing to do with Jon so near and he was already advancing on the bastard when his father acted first.

"Watch your tongue younger brother, else I will have it out." The king snapped, bidding Jon to halt his advance with a raised hand. "We are here to discuss Aegon and Jon's victories, not bicker like children."

"Truly uncle, I'd thought you'd be in better spirits." Aegon let his shoulder knock Viserys some as he walked to shake Jon's hand, doing his best to crush it in his grasp. "The toad had his men follow my march, picking the flesh from my conquests like the vultures they are. Good to see you Jon, I take it you've heard of my exploits?"

He had. During the long journey back from Qohor all he heard about was Aegon and the Golden Legion's victories. While the Dark Order defended the empire's northern borders Aegon had expanding their borders to the south. The Ghiscari cities of Slaver's Bay were the empire's chief rivals to the south and had been slowly encroaching on their territory for years. When Aegon learned Meereen was going to war against Yunkai, for some foolish reason, he took advantage of it. Marching his Golden Legion up the Demon Road, Aegon brought the truculent rulers of Mantarys to heel before seizing the port of Tolos and ruined city of Bhorash as well. Not content with merely gaining new territory, Aegon went on to crush Meereen's defenses and sack the city and its great pyramids.

"One of our greatest rivals brought low." Aegon smiled while some of the councilmen clapped. "Hundreds of wagons of wealth to add to our coffers, thousands taken prisoner and the pyramids of the Great Masters themselves set to flame!"

"A worthy offering to R'hllor." Rhaenys clutched at her necklace and prayed as mother scowled.

"And to the slave markets."

"No need for harsh tones Lyanna." Aegon reached out to take up a cup of wine. "Your son held strong against the Dothraki, acting honorably. Yet it should fall to the first son to achieve glory. Two victories are better than one."

"Or none." He said solemnly, garnering the attention of all. "Father, I fear I know why Qohor was spared Khal Drogo's wrath. It was not the Dark Order that drove him away, but the prospect of far richer spoils elsewhere."

He shot a glance towards Aegon. "Far to the south."

"What are you talking about?" His brother crossed his arms. "Make sense Jon."

"Word travels fast on the Dothraki Sea, from khalasar to khalasar. The Ghiscari have been weakened, their cities and the lands of the Lhazarene open to attack. Every walled stronghold between Meereen and the Sea of Sighs left broken, the empire vulnerable to attack-"

"How dare you?!" Aegon yelled, throwing aside his wine and putting a hand to his blade. "Behind that mask of carved ice you call a face hides a jealous sot! Leave the warring to me and go back to treating with slaves, that's where you belong!"

Jon's hand went to the pommel of his sword as well and he tensed, not because of Aegon's threat but what his words implied.

"Why do I belong with slaves?" He asked, stepping forward. "Insult me all you want but any slight towards my mother will be met, brother."

"Jon!" Mother tried to take hold of him as Dany put herself between the brothers.

"Aegon say you meant no such thing!"

"Let him come!" Aegon waved Jon on. "Let's settle who's to be heir here and now-"

"Enough!" Father's voice boomed like an iron ram against a gate. "Lower your hands from those blades! You are sons of the dragon! Blood of the Conqueror himself! Act it!"

Despite father's orders Aegon and Jon squared off still, his brother's purple eyes doing their best to beat down his own. Yet he could feel father's gaze upon him as well, his mother and Dany's too. So Jon did as he was told, pulling his hand away from his sword and placing it upon his heart, a salute to his king.

Aegon required a touch more to do the same, namely the touch of Daenerys's hand upon his arm. His resolve weakened as the pair looked to each other, the princess whispering a command of her own that forced Aegon to abandon his threat. He soon turned to salute their father as well while Rhaenys watched all this with fury.

"Forgive me father." Aegon mumbled. "I was only defending my victory against slander."

"There was more wisdom in Jon's observations than slander." Father shot a glance to Varys, who nodded. "Though less candor than I would've preferred."

"The Lord-Commander is quite right." Varys slipped between the other councillors in his soft slippers and billowing silks. "The little birds fly far and wide, even in the cities of the Ghiscari and the settlements of the grasslands. Several khalasars now move upon Lhazar, Khal Drogo's among them. With Meereen sacked, its rival Astapor now dominates Slaver's Bay. Together with Yunkai and New Ghis, they are moving to restore their ruined sister."

"So? What of it?" Aegon asked, though sounding a little less confident. "The horselords will fight amongst themselves and then against the Ghiscari."

"Perhaps." Varys said with little conviction. "Though my little birds in Astapor say the Great Masters there will wait out the Dothraki infighting and then try and buy the winner over for an attack elsewhere."

Aegon took a step back in shock and, while Jon had been proven right, he felt a knife twist in his gut. He disdained the empire's treatment of slaves yet it was ten times better than how Ghiscari and Dothraki treated theirs. The thought of their foulness breaking over the frontier made him sick.

It will take a lot of blood to throw them back, he lamented,more blood, rivers of it.

Rising up over my head, drowning me in it once more.

"Then it shall be war." Jon admitted before gesturing to Aegon. "With the strength of the Dark Order and Golden Legion together we might be able to-"

"No." Father cut him off before addressing the others. "Leave us. Everyone but my sons and wife, leave us."

Rhaenys and Viserys both protested but his father sent them on anyways, Jon silently letting the Blackfish and Gendry know to watch over Daenerys. He didn't care for the evil eye Viserys gave Dany after she kissed Rhaegar farewell and took Aemon's hand to escort the blind prince out. Jon wasn't alone in watching Dany leave, for Aegon's eyes followed her as well.

Until the doors closed and father took Aegon and Jon into his confidence as he had since they were but boys. Father cupped an ear each on both of them, drawing them close.

"There, now you must act as one to hear me." His eyes moved between them. "When you two let your passions get the better of you like that you play right into the hands of those who wish to set brother against brother. The many factions of the empire are as dangerous to its survival as its enemies. Rise above the politics, stay united and trust when I make my recommendation for heir it will be in the best interest of both of you."

He wanted to point out it wasn't the crown he challenged Aegon over but he kept his tongue. Father's will was so powerful and after the years of bloodshed it felt good to be held by him once again. Even if it was only to be lectured.

"Jon was right." Aegon spoke begrudgingly. "If we join our strength we can bloody this new Ghiscari alliance before they grow too powerful."

"No, no I will not risk a war that could leave us open to the Dothraki. I will call up the legions of the Rhoyne and levees of these lands to demonstrate our strength. I'll have Sallador's fleet harass New Ghis, in hopes of forcing them into accepting a separate peace with us."

Mother went to run a hand through father's hair then.

"All of which will drain the empire's strength even more." She said. "At a time when your father wishes to make many changes that will require a power we do not yet hold. Lands we are yet to control."

Expansion? Mother has never supported the expansionists.

She abhors their undying hunger for new territory and slaves…

Father took mother in hand then and led them all towards a large map hanging upon the wall. A map of the known world, from Ulthos and Sothoryos to the Summer Islands and Westeros. It was the Seven Kingdoms father directed their attention to, specifically the lands nearest the farthest outpost of the Targaryen Empire. Their ancestor's birthplace, the former seat of Aegon the Conqueror himself.

Dragonstone.

"Westeros has lost a great man in Eddard Stark." Father kissed mother's hand. "His murder at the hands of the Lannisters caught the Kingdom of the North off guard. King Tywin's ambitions would not be held back by a banner of truce."

It was well known that Tywin Lannister, King of the Rock, was bent on controlling southern Westeros. His grandson Joffrey Durrandon, the Storm King, ruled lands from the Dornish Marches to the Bay of Crabs and the great castle Harrenhal itself.

Aegon tapped his chin in thought as he took in the map.

"King Tywin is making his play for a grand kingdom in Westeros." He pointed disdainfully towards Highgarden. "I see little to stop him from doing so. The hatred between Gardeners and the Martells rules out any alliance there."

Mother nodded. "And the battles between the Gardeners and Starks for the river lands has led to bad blood there as well. With chaos in the Vale and the Iron Islands only interested in reaving, the Starks and Martells are quite friendless. Even if they united, they would be too weak to stand against the Lannisters."

It made sense yet Jon disliked the conclusion he was led to by reflecting why all this mattered to his father.

"You wish to support the Lannisters?" He tasted something foul in his mouth. "Father, I can understand them being a powerful ally in the days to come and their gold could pay to shore up our armies but I have to protest-"

"I'm glad you do, my son." Father smiled to his mother. "Tywin Lannister is no friend to us. I wish to create a new ally all my own. Our words are fire and blood. Your blood is of the dragon my sons, but it is also of the Martell sun and Stark direwolf. I intend for you both to do honor by your blood and bring fire to their enemies."

He and Aegon were incredulous at this and thus began hours of discussion between father and them both. Where plans were made and revealed all at once. It was long into night before he was finally free to seek his chambers here at Summerhall.

They were far larger than he was used to anymore. The floors were marble with a bath carved into the floor and behind some thin curtains lay an open balcony overlooking the lake beyond. Years of sleeping in the cramped quarters of forts and pavilions ruined him for such luxuries. Especially the large raised canopy bed he was meant to sleep in.

The bed where two naked young women lay waiting for him, both posed lewdly, running their hands about their bodies in seductive ways.

"We're for you, son of the High King." One said, cupping a supple breast up at him.

The other dipped her fingers into her sex. "A gift, from your loving uncle."

Viserys… of course… if only I could beat that piece of shit bloody…

It wasn't a stretch to see why his uncle had sent these two to him. For both had dark brown hair and pale skin, their eyes different shades of grey. Features as familiar to him as their accents.

"You're Westerosi? From the North?" He asked, ignoring their nakedness to find their garments piled at the foot of the bed.

The two women shared an uneasy glance before the taller one nodded.

"Yes m'lord."

"Then by the Old Gods, accept my apologies for this dishonor." He offered the thin slips back to both women, who merely stared in confusion. "I do not bed women held in bondage. I was raised better, so please, dress and leave."

As they did so he got a better look at their bodies. The scars and bruises were faint but there they were, evidence of the treatment he was returning them too. Before they could scurry from the room he asked them to stop.

"I want you to seek out the chambers of Sergeant Gendry in the lower levels."

"Beggin' your pardons m'lord but we was only supposed to lay with you." The older one answered again. "Then we was to go back to master Prince Viserys."

"He's no prince." He snapped and felt bad when they recoiled. "Apologies, but please, forget returning to Viserys. If you wish to return to the North go to Gendry's chambers, tell him who sent you and say the name, Lyanna. Do this and I swear, as the son of a Stark, you shall be free again."

The younger one met his gaze then, a look of unbridled hope flashing in her eyes. He repeated himself once more and got both to agree to do as he said. Gendry would know what to do, in their early days as simple cavalrymen in the order they'd helped many slaves this way. People they hid instead of handing over to the upper ranks to enslave or sell for profit. Long after the dreams of glory and service to the empire were tainted by the blood and rank smell of rotting corpses Jon still took pride in helping those people.

The candles and torches blown out he stripped away all of his clothing, the heat of these lands bidding him to climb into the bed naked. The breeze coming in through the balcony felt good on his bare skin and he hoped somewhere in the castle, those two slaves bedded down with hope in their hearts.

His father's plans should have kept him awake but after all his travels Jon found himself drifting off.

He was half asleep when she arrived.

Whatever entrance she stole through was a mystery to him. His battlefield instincts were still sharp though, for Daenerys's footfalls were barely audible on the marble floors. He rose up on his elbows to see her beautiful form pushing aside the canopy of his bed. A moment later, it was her robe falling aside, Dany not speaking a word as she displayed her pale naked body to him.

Her breasts were full and high, the silver blonde hair about her sex as inviting as he remembered. He was already hard by the time she crawled up the bed to lay a kiss upon his lips. Gentle yet hungry all at once, her teeth nibbling at his lower lip.

"I said I missed you." She sighed, letting her tongue tease his. "I meant to say I missed this too."

He said nothing as they kissed again and again, her lips sweet and hair like silk in his hands. When she broke free it was only to kiss down his face and neck before moving lower. Dany pulled the sheets away as she traced a wet line down his chest and then his stomach. When she wrapped her hand around his cock he moaned a curse, for he knew what coming. Dany looked him right it the eye as she took the head of his cock in her mouth, moaning herself to wrap her lips around it.

When she began to move her head up and down it was like the years fell away. To times when he had called Summerhall home.

Once they had all been young children here, running and playing in the pools and gardens. Dany and Rhaenys used to take turns kissing Aegon and Jon both in those days. When they grew older things changed, Rhaenys became distant after the death of her mother and Dany and Aegon's kissing grew less playful. At one time he was sure it be those two to wed, for it was no secret at ten and three Aegon took Dany's maidenhead. Yet time weakened their love, the pair having a falling out, Dany hurt by Aegon enjoying the pleasures of some of Viserys's bed slaves.

They quarrelled and soon after Aegon left on a tour of the Three Daughters. That had been a sad time for Dany and Jon had done what he could to see her through it. His efforts brought them closer and closer, until their time together became the high points of his day. One thing led to another between them, friendship giving way to love. Long before he killed for the first time Jon believed he'd become a man the day Daenerys made love to him beneath a lemon tree.

Later Jon would see there was more lust than love between them but he'd been too young to tell the difference at the time. Of course, he'd asked Dany to marry him yet, with his leaving to join the Dark Order and the war on the horizon, she refused him.

"If only so you return to me some day to ask again." She'd wept to say at the time.

After a couple years, even though the feelings had faded, he had returned to ask again. He did not begrudge Dany's refusal, for she clearly cared for him enough to welcome him back to her bed. To cradle him as he wept to experience something so beautiful after all the horrors he'd been through.

He'd surely seen worse since but there would be no tears this night.

"Fuck." He groaned when Dany looked him right in the eye before sinking back down onto his cock.

His body wanted to arch and buck up into the touch of her lips and tongue but he fought against that. It was far better to watch Dany suck and kiss at his cock. With her hand stroking and pumping it, her mouth working the top, the sensation became too much. It had been too long and she was far too beautiful.

"Now." He warned her before grunting and filling his hands with the sheets. His climax was so powerful she barely pulled away in time to escape the mess.

When it was done Jon fell back on the bed, lost in the ecstasy of the moment while Dany set to cleaning him with the sheets. She would have him clean for what came next, for they were practiced at this by now. His cock remained hard, as it often would be after the first release. She moved to straddle him when Jon wrapped his arms around her and flipped Dany onto her back.

"Jon, you don't have to." She said halfheartedly as he pushed her legs apart. "I thought you'd be too tired to- oh yes…"

Her words faded away as he lowered his mouth upon her sex. He'd always enjoyed doing this, tasting her. His lips and tongue making her all the wetter while her thighs trembled. She sighed and moaned herself when he found her bud. It did not bother him that she bucked and ground herself against his mouth, nor when her hands took hold of his hair to urge him on.

His jaw was sore by the time she reached her release but his manhood remained stiff. Her cheeks flush and body weak, Dany accepted him with a gasp, the wet lips of her sex parting before his cock which was so wrapped in a warm embrace he'd needed so. He tried to be gentle but Dany's hands clawing at his back and desperate kisses bid him to drive into her harder and harder. As hot as this night was his body was burning, sweat dripping down his face and mingling with hers as his mouth wrapped around her nipples.

The poles of the bed were quaking terribly when he came again, driving deep within his first love to spend his seed. He stayed like that, his face buried in the crook of Dany's neck, his manhood still inside her while she stroked his back and breathed heavily. It was only when the heat of their two bodies became too much that he rolled off of her.

Cool air moved over his sweat soaked and heaving body, his eyes focused on the dark canopy above. Nothing was spoken between them, the only sound their breathing while he stared off at nothing. Dany's eyes had found something of interest though, for her fingers began tracing the scars upon his body.

A long pale mark courtesy of a Dothraki arahk across his side. A bit of puckered flesh near his left shoulder where a Braavosi water dancer had skewered him. An uglier scar along his thigh, where a Ghiscari had lashed him with a steel-tipped whip.

"So many hurts in so little time." Dany sighed, kissing her finger tips before pressing them against a scar. "My poor Jon…"

"You do not have to look." He grumbled, refusing to meet her gaze. Truly he could not bear to look at her again, lest his youthful feelings get the better of him once more.

"Don't grow cold to me again." Dany said, rising up on an elbow to look down at him, a finger drawing lines on his sweaty chest. "Is it that northern honor Lyanna made you aspire towards that troubles you? Jon, I thought we understood each other..."

"You understand me better than most." He cupped her cheek in his hand. "I was just thinking on how that could be yet I'm still at a loss for how you remain unwed."

She smiled at the question, turning her eyes to the open window. "Freedom Jon, so many are denied it in the empire so I will cherish mine. I wish no shackles on me, whether real or the ones a husband burdens a wife with. Do you hate me for saying so?"

"Never." He answered truthfully, feeling safe to speak freely with her. To reveal truths he kept hidden from everyone else. "We are not meant to be, I saw the truth of that some time ago. I love you Dany, I always will, but I can live without you. Try and imagine my mother and father saying the same."

"I cannot, theirs is a love for the ages." Dany sighed, running a hand down the line of his jaw. "Perhaps one day I shall feel such a thing... that I shall be worthy of it if I do. Lest I regret losing out on such a soul like yours."

She kissed his brow then, a long lingering kiss that was filled with more care than anything else. When she pulled away her eyes were sad.

"I pray you find the love you seek Jon. You deserve it more than any of us."

"Because I don't bed slaves?" He asked.

"No, because you believe in love. You have none of the ambition of Aegon or Viserys, not even Rhaenys. Aegon thirsts for battle but every time you return from it I see how the fighting burdens you, how the light in your eyes dim a little more. You take so little joy out of life…"

He turned away from her, rising to sit at the edge of the bed and facing the window. In this moment he didn't like how close they were. To hear truths about himself that he was not willing to accept. Dany's hand touched his shoulder, soft and reassuring.

"Jon, you were born of a great love and have one of the truest hearts I've ever known. Likely one of the truest the empire has ever seen. I fear what will happen to that heart if you cannot find another that beats as powerfully. Please, ask Rhaegar to let the Dark Order stand down for leave. Give yourself time to seek a bride… a love… or at least a reprieve from the fighting-"

"You're a dreamer Dany." He said, looking through the curtains to the starry sky beyond. "I envy you, your dreams, your hopes. Mine gave way to nightmares long ago... that's my life now. Battle after battle. Riding, killing, death, there's not going to be any peace for me. Not now at any rate. Father's sending me across the Narrow Sea. Apparently I've seen enough war on this side of the world, I'm meant to broaden my horizons by waging it in Westeros."

"Oh Jonarys…"

Her hand pulled away and he didn't blame her. If he could escape the darkness that found him even in this palace of beauty he would surely try. Not if it meant breaking his vow to the Dark Order or his father though, if he could not have peace Jon could still cling to his honor.

It was his honor that mother put so much faith in. While she hadn't been home to Winterfell since she first left, mother was intent on returning there soon. To save her family, to have Jon help save their family.

We fight to save the Kingdom of the North. A war to preserve the Targaryen Empire itself.

More blood. More death. A duty he could not balk at.

When he felt the bed dip he turned to see Dany climbing off it, making to don her robe once more. The arch of her back and the teasing way her hair moved against the top of her arse reminded him there were better things he could be doing now than worry.

"You're going?" He asked and she held the robe before her, looking at him with sympathy.

"I thought perhaps we were done." She spoke with concern yet that look fell away when he stood to face her, his manhood hard once again.

"It's been nearly a year Dany. I'm far from done."

"And it be nice to have a proper farewell between us."

"Perhaps something I can dream on later."


	2. Chapter 2

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ASOIAF**

 **THE DARK ORDER**

 **The Dark Order was founded two hundred years ago by Daemon Targaryen, the Rogue Prince.**

 **In an otherwise tranquil period, the city of Mantarys raised a dread army, one that raided by night and stole away** **hundreds** **before dawn.** **The** **poor souls taken in such attacks were sacrificed for blood rites too unspeakable to mention. So ill-omened was Mantarys** **that** **High King Viserys balked to send armies or dragons against it.**

 **Until one man spoke up.** **Prince Daemon, the king's willful younger brother.** **Having been denied leadership of an imperial legion,** **Daemon** **began** **building an army all his own. So popular was this rogue prince among the empire's most hardened warriors,** **he gathered a force of a few thousand with ease. Inspired by a trip to the Wall in faraway Westeros, the prince drew from all ranks of nobility and freedmen, no matter their breeding or background, uniting men in common cause.**

 **Most in the imperial court believed that Daemon's campaign against Mantarys was cursed from the moment he left Volantis. Half a year later,** **The Rogue Prince** **returned victorious, flying upon his dragon Caraxes and leading his army home. Behind them Mantarys and its blood worshippers laidsmashed, each league of the army's return marked by the impaled head of a foe.**

 **In reward for their great victory, the High King bestowed upon Daemon's men** **titles and rank, the beginning of the Dark Order. From that time onward, its members could claim spoils and honors like any legion. Yet unlike other imperial armies the order was granted the power to name its own commander, a measure done by popular vote.**

 **The order would go on to play a key role during the Dance of Dragons, helping raise Aegon the Third to the throne. Over the years, famed warriors have risen through the Dark Order's ranks, including many with Targaryen blood. Aemon the Dragonknight, Daemon Blackfyre, Brynden the Bloodraven.**

 **Men both great and terrible.**

 **Great and terrible…** **there are no better words to describe the Dark Order.**

 **WHITE HARBOR**

Jon leaned against the dromond's railing and closed his eyes. The oars tilling the sea below sent a salty mist up at him.

Not far from shore, the _Jaehaerys_ was moving at a brisk pace, the triple-decked warship pulling around a massive grey-green stone jutting out of the water. Rising fifty feet into the air, its crown hosted a ringfort jammed with scorpions, spitfires, and scores of crossbowmen. The giant stone dominated the approach to White Harbor, the northern port where much of their fleet was already docked.

Built facing east along the mouth of a large river, this city would serve as their gateway to the Kingdom of the North.

A hand touched Jon's shoulder then, his mother coming to join him along the rail. The High Queen wore a gown of the darkest grey, a garment far less eye-catching than the crown upon her brow. A product of the finest smiths of Qohor, Queen Lyanna's crown was a circlet of blue gold, wrought in the shape of roses. Jon was never one for jewelry or decoration but it always made him happy to see his mother looking so elegant.

Her expression confused him though. Her eyes glistened with sadness while a small smile pulled at her lips.

"I'm home." Mother spoke softly, her eyes moving over the city and the waterfront before she pointed to the stone ahead. "Seal Rock. Gods Jon, that ugly thing was the last thing I ever saw of the North. Brandon teased me when I wept to lose sight of it. He said he never knew me to love seals so much... he always made me laugh..."

"The seals appear to have left with you." He put a hand overtop his mother's, squeezing hers lightly. "This rock is now home to scorpions, far deadlier beasts."

Mother flinched some at his words. "The peace my brothers and I grew up with died with Brandon. The North has seen war after war ever since, costing it dearly. My father, poor Ned… I meant to see him one more time. In my mind, I pictured it all the same. My brothers, my home… it was foolish of me. Twenty years of bloodletting and war, this city has changed with it."

"It has grown stronger." A gruff voice spoke up from behind them. "As you did after many hardships my queen. The Starks endure."

The voice belonged to one of the white-clad warriors keeping a respectful distance from them. Ethan Glover was mother's oldest friend and the only Northman among the elite Highguard of the royal family.

A thick, strongly built man, Ethan looked a powerful warrior in the white enamel and mail of the imperial guard. In one hand he held the dark ironoak shaft of a poleaxe, in the other a gleaming snow-white helm. His hair and beard were thick and russet-colored, bound in a braid behind his head, with a bronze ring below his chin. None of that compared to Ethan's most fearsome feature, the demon's mask brand burned into his right cheek.

The mark of a disobedient slave and a dangerous man. A mark Ethan wore with pride.

The Glover man had served as Brandon Stark's squire and part of mother's escort to the Storm King. After the slavers attacked their vessel, Ethan was captured and chained to oars, no amount of whipping could bend his will. When it came time to throw off their shackles, Ethan fought side by side with his princess. He'd never left her side since, following Jon's mother on her path to becoming High Queen, eventually taking the vows of the Highguard. Ethan swearing his life to her safety.

"Your uncle's last words to me, 'Protect Lyanna.'" Ethan had told Jon once as a boy. "He trusted me. She freed me. I will do honor by them both, for the rest of my days."

As a boy, Jon saw Ethan as the paragon of all that mother told him of northmen. Strong and fierce, proud and honorable, the Glover man was known far and wide as the High Queen's mailed fist.

Though to mother Ethan would always be a dear friend and treated him as such.

"Thank you Ethan." Mother's smile had a bit of mischief to it. "Now don't try and pretend that seeing our homeland again doesn't touch you as well. None will think poorly of you for shedding a tear."

"I am not one for weeping."

"Perhaps not today, but I remember a young boy freshly arrived at Winterfell, looking quite misty-eyed to bid his mother farewell."

"I was a child then!" Ethan protested. "That is- I did not weep... I only showed sympathy for my mother's plight..."

Jon held back a laugh but Ethan's Highguard comrade failed in that, Tumco Lho breaking into a coughing chuckle that was quickly silenced by a glare from the older warrior.

Tall and dark-skinned, Tum was yet another who owed his freedom to Lyanna Stark. Born in the Basilisk Isles and trained up as a gladiator for the slave pits of Meereen, Tum had led a slave uprising that drew the eye of the empire. Thousands of slaves escaped Meereen, only to be hunted by the Ghiscari legions, pressing them on a death march toward the Gulf of Grief. That was where the royal fleet met them. Mother had convinced the High King to save the rebels, to inspire the rest of the Ghiscari's slaves, in the hopes that it would cause future uprisings for their enemies.

Tum, an able warrior with both sword and battle-axe, had begged for the chance to repay that debt by serving the FreeQueen. In less than a yearthe warrior proved himself worthy to join the Highguard, becoming one of mother's principle protectors ever since.

Father would've sent a third of his guard with her, had she allowed it. Instead she'd scolded the High King on the kind of message that would send to the Starks of Winterfell, her family.

 _My family too, for what little that means_ , Jon thought, _the Starks I know are the ones from mother's tales, and most of them are dead._

 _There's no guarantee this King Robb will welcome us once he hears our offer._

Jon kept those worries to himself, for he'd already spoken on them at length with both his parents before setting sail for Westeros. Instead he held his mother's hand as she pointed out sights in the white-walled city as it grew closer with every moment.

A large castle sat upon the hill within the walls, the New Castle, seat of House Manderly. The Wolf's Den was an ancient looking fortress overlooking one end of the long harbor, a strange pall seeming to hang over the ruin. Truly it was the harbor that drew Jon's attention, for it was packed with vessels flying the black and red banners of the Targaryen Empire. More than fifty ships had ferried the Dark Order from Myr to White Harbor. Most were cogs and carracks, dropping anchor in the city's large outer harbor. The twenty or so dromonds and war galleys that served as escort were filling quays within the inner harbor, sheltered by the city walls.

"Lord Manderly honors us by letting our warships dock there." Mother said as they watched horses and black-garbed men streaming off of ships and onto the docks. "The inner harbor is usually reserved for Manderly ships, the northern fleet."

"They have not strayed far." He pointed out the twenty or so northern galleys guarding the entrance to the White Knife and the harbor itself. "A sign of caution... or a trap waiting to be sprung."

Mother slapped his arm then. "Jon, these are bannermen to House Stark. Acting wary means they are serving my family well. The same family, I remind you, that invited us here in the first place."

"But they've never once sent an envoy to us. You call them family mother but I have never seen the Starks once treat you as kin. Who is to say your brother's children are cut from the same cloth as the man you remember?"

She looked surprised and hurt by his words, gazing at Jon as if trying to put a name to his face.

"My father and brother were put in a difficult position after I decided to stay with Rhaegar. By breaking my betrothal to Robert... it was a stain on House Stark's honor. I knew what it would mean and I stand by my choice, yet I never expected my family to understand. They were well within their rights to shun me... but after Ned ascended the throne of Winterfell he wrote to me. Benjen too. Our letters were few but in their words I found my brothers again. I cannot see Ned's children plotting against us. Nor could I imagine you speaking of them so harshly. To have you acting so... so..."

"Protective?"

"Cold." Mother sighed. "Oh Jon… when this is all done I hope you try and propose to Daenerys again. She would be a fine match and you clearly love one another. It is time you took a wife and cease this endless warring. With her as a mother I would have such handsome grandchildren..."

He ignored her words, for their ship had moved deeper into the inner harbor, passing the _Jaehaerys'_ sister ship, the _Alysanne_ , already at anchor. The Blackfish and Thoros were overseeing the unloading of the dromond, both men giving a wave to see Jon's ship moving into the quay next to them. When he turned to seek Gendry down in the hold, the queen made to bar his path.

"Son, do not think I've missed the change in you. Even as a little boy you were solemn but there was a happiness behind your frowns... a warmth. If I'd known what the Dark Order would do to my darling boy, I would have made Rhaegar find some other duty for you. Aegon's already wed well, if not happily. You can surely do better on both counts. Daenerys would be perfect for you."

"For a woman so concerned with freeing people from bondage, you're far too content in dictating the course of my life. I'm not a child, nor a slave to your wills mother-"

She cut him off by grabbing hold of his tunic and pulling him close, her eyes wide with anger.

"Never speak to me of being a slave. Ever. Whatever else you think you've seen of this world, the life of a slave is something you are blessedly ignorant of. You know nothing Jon."

A flush of shame crept up in his cheeks, for while he was a man grown it was still a terrible thing to realize that he'd hurt his mother then. She spoke truly, in his righteousness he acted like a spoiled prince. For all his troubles, he'd never shared half the hardship of these three people next to him.

"I apologize your grace." He straightened and put a first to his heart. "Forgive me my foolishness. I command men in battle better than I do mine own tongue. If you'd excuse me, I would see to our landing."

Thankfully mother gave Jon leave then. He had little desire to stay behind and reflect on why he had become so frustrated. It wasn't really mother's insistence on grooming him for the imperial throne, which he had never coveted. Nor her attempts to wed him to Dany, who had given Jon a tender kiss and a tearful embrace when they'd parted at Summerhall. Rather, it was how mother and Dany agreed on how to 'save' him which bothered Jon, that somehow if he married it would lift Jon from the darkness he now drowned in.

 _They act as if I want to be this way_ , he thought, _this_ _is what I_ _had to_ _become to lead._

 _To fight._ _To survive._

 _They believe a wife could save me from that_ _while_ _ignor_ i _ng_ _the more likely outcome... that I'd drag the poor woman down with me._

His mind turned to the two slave women that Gendry had spirited away from Summerhall. The women currently sharing a cabin below deck. Viserys had raised hell when he discovered his bedslaves missing, accusing Jon and Lyanna both in their flight. Thankfully, Jon's fool of an uncle spoke in such an impolite manner that Rhaegar became offended on their behalf, ordering his brother away from Summerhall.

While Jon wished Viserys nothing but long and hard travels, he hoped the freed women's journey was at an end. Bess and Elly were both grateful to be returning to the North as free women, yet fearful of what their future held. Elly worried him most. Only ten and five, she had tried on no less than three occasions to share his bed during the journey. She had no family to speak of in the North and wept to offer herself as his own bedwarmer.

"My lord's bed would be kinder than the streets." Elly had sniffed as he rejected her advances. "Or the brothels most like... Bess thinks we might find work there. I don't want to be with so many men but Bess says it's better than starving…"

 _It's not enough to merely strike their chains_ , he thought, _freedom will not put a roof over Elly's head or food in Bess's belly._

 _Viserys was a monster but he kept them alive._ _I must do better._

 _That's what this quest is all about in the end, helping these women and their like is part of my parents' dream._

Thus, as the _Jaehaerys_ was tied off to the quay and ramps were lowered down to the docks, Jon reminded himself of the promise he made to Bess and Elly. They would be under his care until shelter and work was found for them both. He prayed to do right by the pair and the untold numbers back in the Empire who depended on the success of this journey

After a company of men and royal servants moved to line the edges of the dock, Jon and Gendry descended the ramp, both wearing mail with swords strapped to their waists at the ready. At the far end of the dock, near a large carriage, he spotted a sizeable welcoming party of northmen, including a number of spearmen.

"If things go poorly do not worry on me." He said to Gendry, his eyes not wavering from the northmen. "You get the queen back to the ship. My mother must be seen safely away."

"Ethan and Tum will do well by her. I'd be at your side Jon, like always."

"Not this time. You'll protect her with your life sergeant, that's an order."

He did not need to look to Gendry to know his friend understood. With a nod to some of the servants the pronouncement of the queen's arrival commenced. Banners bearing the red dragon of the Targaryen Empire were lifted high while trumpets blew a series of high notes. Soon after, with a Highguard to either side, mother descended down the plank and onto the dock. The welcoming party was not quite what Jon had expected. Ethan had set a high standard for northmen it seemed, for the two men standing at the fore of the White Harbor group were two of the fattest that Jon had ever seen.

Before he could reflect on this further their royal herald began to crow.

 _"Harken! Before you comes her imperial highness Lyanna Stark, High Queen of the Targaryen Empire! The Majesty of Summerhall! Queen of the Freehold, from the hills of Andalos_ _to_ _the river Rhoyne-"_

"Queen my arse!" A voice called from within the Manderly party. "That's the woman who used to beat me with sticks!"

A wiry, dark-haired northman pushed his way by the Manderly guardsmen, sending Jon's hand to his sword. Gendry and Tum did much the same but Ethan, to his shock, waved off their efforts. That's when mother let out a joyful laugh, grabbing at her skirts and running to embrace the stranger.

"Ben! My little wolf!" Mother laughed as they wrapped their arms around each other, her face pressed tightly against the man's closely trimmed beard. "Still yapping and causing trouble I see."

"Like you're one to talk." The man pulled away, waving an arm to demonstrate how packed the harbor was with men of the Dark Order moving about. "Look at all this! I just had these docks fit enough for a queen and you show up and ruin them!"

Mother started laughing again and Jon began to piece together the stranger's identity. Their features were very similar and few besides his father could make the queen laugh so warmly. When the pair moved apart, Jon saw that the man's tunic displayed three grey wolves chasing each other's tails on a field of white. Mother waved Jon forward then.

"Benjen Stark, let me present my son, Jonarys." Mother pushed both men together. "Jon, this is my little brother, your Uncle Benjen."

"You remind me of Ned." Benjen Stark's smile was tainted by the sadness in his voice. "Though if you bothered to smile, I'd wager there's some Brandon in there as well."

"My mother told me much of you Prince Benjen." He shook his uncle's hand firmly. "Though I was kept in the dark about her beating you with sticks."

"A true demon she was." Benjen shook his head solemnly. "I think there was a log or two involved-"

"Oh nonsense!" Mother cuffed Benjen's arm as he grinned playfully. That was when one of the fat men behind them began to cough impatiently.

The pair looked so much alike that Jon was not surprised to learn they were brothers, though he was a bit taken aback to learn they were knights. Sers Wyllis and Wendel Manderly were Lord Wyman's sons, both men well past their prime, with thick grey mustaches that fell below their chins. That, combined with their girth, reminded Jon very much of walruses he once saw in Ibben.

Whatever their appearance, the Manderlys were nothing but amiable and respectful as they welcomed the Targaryens to their city.

"Queen Lyanna, Prince Jonarys, we are honored to have you here." Ser Wyllis dabbed at his brow, which was sweaty despite the cool northern air. "To have Targaryens within our walls, surely this will be a tale for generations to come! Our father would be here himself but, regretfully, the trek from the New Castle to the docks is a tad trying for him."

"He has put on a bit of weight of late." Wendel added with a lumbering bow. "We however are fit enough to greet imperial royalty and its escort. Warriors to warriors."

Jon shared a look with Gendry who appeared just as incredulous at those words. Somehow both maintained their discipline in that moment. Mother waved away the Manderly brothers' apologies, offering her hand for both men to kiss.

"A fine feast has been planned for you." Wyllis continued. "With only the freshest catches and game from our own forests-"

"Grandpa move! I want to see the dragons!" A young voice brought their attention to a small boy hidden behind Ser Wyllis's girth. The child, who could not be more than four, was struggling against the efforts of a comely young woman keeping him pressed to her skirts.

"My apologies!" The woman sighed, throwing back her long brown braid and taking a firmer grip on the boy. "I swear, my son learned his manners from his father."

"I'll accept blame on that account." Benjen nodded with a wink to the boy. "Let him come Winnie. Here lad, meet your aunt and cousin."

"This is your boy?" Mother's eyes widened as she bent down to meet the coming of the dark-haired child. "Little Wyllard? Why in my mind he was but a babe in a cradle."

"I'm not little anymore." The boy stated proudly before pointing to a green-haired lady near his mother who held a bundle in her arms. "Lya's the babe now. She's the littlest."

Mother gasped and Benjen shrugged. "She was born two moons back. It was Wynafryd's idea to name her Lyarra, after mother."

Such was how Jon came to be introduced to his uncle's family. His wife, Princess Wynafryd, was Ser Wyllis's eldest daughter and blushed when mother came to place a kiss on her cheeks. When the babe began to fuss, no amount of kind-hearted protests from Wynafryd could stop mother from taking the bundle into her arms. As tiny Lyarra was fawned over, Wyllis made to introduce the pretty girl who'd been holding her, his second daughter Wylla.

"Your grace." Wylla curtsied well but her eyes moved over his men with a fierce curiosity. "I welcome you to White Harbor... your men as well. Is this truly the infamous Dark Order?"

"It is, but do not let the tales fool you. As grim as our name may be, my men will conduct themselves with discipline and respect within your walls."

"Well that would be a waste." Wylla winked mischievously. "We've gone to such trouble to stock the city with food and drink, it would be shameful for your men to miss out on the festivities. Grandfather wants you to find as much wine as welcome here, women as well-"

"Wylla! This is a prince!" Wyllis sputtered some, coming to put an arm around his daughter. "Forgive my daughter's impetuousness, my father spoils her. She speaks wilfully but to hear her sing, oh it is like the sirens themselves calling. A score of lords have asked for her hand after such a performance. Between us though, rumors fly that King Robb might seek her for himself. My Wylla is surely worthy of a royal match… which reminds me, I've heard you've yet to wed yourself-"

"Father!" Wylla hissed as her cheeks burned. Before Jon could answer, the Blackfish and Asher Forrester, a newly made sergeant and a northman himself, arrived and rescued them both from the awkwardness.

"Forgive the intrusion." The old knight bowed before addressing Jon. "Thoros and Balaq have the men and the horses in the outer harbor formed into companies and I've done the same for this stretch. I'd wager the order will be ready to move out within the hour, but we've still got supply ships waiting for berths."

"Sounds like a problem for our Grand Admiral." Wylla smirked at Benjen, who was speaking with Ethan while Wyllard hid behind his legs, staring up at the scarred warrior.

"Grand Admiral?" Jon asked and his uncle nodded.

"Aye, an honor I did not ask for yet it was bestowed upon me nonetheless by my goodfather. Lord Wyman said there's no better choice to lead the Stark fleet than a Stark… no matter this Stark's thoughts on the matter."

"Husband, you perform your duty well." Wynafryd put in. "It was my husband who commanded the blockade of the Weeping Water during the Bolton uprising-"

"Thank you Winnie, but I doubt my war lord nephew will be impressed by my tale of sitting on a bit of wood for a siege." Benjen came to sort things out with him. "Once some of your ships are unloaded they can lay anchor up the White Knife, where the currents are calmer. How many more are you expecting?"

"This appears to be all of them." Jon answered, the Blackfish grunting in agreement. "I'd have the cogs put up the river-"

"Pardon me, you say this is all?" Wendel interrupted, joining Wyllis and Benjen in staring at him. "But I count no more than four thousand men here."

"That sounds right, with sailors added in that is." Jon nodded, an answer which plainly displeased their hosts. "We were more but recent battles drained us and we've not had time-"

"Benjen." Mother handed Lyarra back to Wynafryd and made to take command of the situation. "Brother, I'd appreciate it if you accommodated the Lord-Commander's needs. Whatever else we need to discuss can surely be done when we meet Lord Manderly in his hall. I for one am eager to thank our gracious host."

No argument arose and whatever misgivings the Manderly brothers had disappeared at the spectre of having the High Queen journey through their city. They tried to usher mother into joining the ladies and children in their grand carriage, which had carved mermen decorating the sides, but she politely declined. Many looked askance when the High Queen mounted her own horse instead but Benjen only laughed.

Most of the order was going to bed down in emptied lodgings near the far end of the city, while Jon and a small company of his men would join the queen in the New Castle. Until then, he would ride at the head of the order with his captains, his proper place as commander. When he made to mount his horse, he felt a tug at his cloak, young Wyllard having taken hold of it.

"Can I ride with you?" Wyllard asked, his little chin stuck high in the air. "Please? I won't fall I promise."

"I... uh..." He looked to the boy's mother and found Wynafryd and Wylla both smiling, much like his mother and uncle.

"It's fine by me!" Benjen shouted. "He sits a horse well if you keep a hand on him! Your mother did the same for me once!"

"Go on Jon." Mother grinned ear to ear. "It's good practice for when you have a son of your own."

He wanted to argue against it, to remind them that a march of the Dark Order was no place for a child. His protests fell away as Wyllard began to jump up and down eagerly. His excitement caused Jon to remember the little boy he'd once been. Begging for his father or Ethan or even mother to lift him up onto their horses for a ride.

"Come along then coz." He took hold of Wyllard and lifted his small body up and into his saddle.

When he climbed up behind the boy, he put a hand to Wyllard's hip and took the reins in the other. Soon he was leading his horse away from the dock and onto the cobbled roadway leading into the city. The wagons and horses of the Manderlys and the royal parties were at the fore while a long dark mass of riders snaked down the edges of the harbor.

Gendry and Asher both chuckled to see the young boy sharing Jon's horse and a ripple of laughter began moving down the ranks. Brynden winked at Wyllard while Black Balaq and Greenbeard appeared bored at the spectacle.

"Now Wyllard, we are to lead these men through the city." Jon said, pointing at the lines of riders. "They must be given commands, orders that must come from their commander. So you will have to say what I tell you to."

"I get to tell them what to do?" Wyllard's mouth dropped and Jon could not help but grin.

"It's a high honor so you must treat it as such." He continued. "Now look to Ser Brynden, and, as loudly as you can, repeat after me. Order attention!"

"Order attention!" Wyllard shouted and the Blackfish repeated the call, which echoed among sergeants down the line.

An audible clanking and tremor of movement followed his men snapping to attention. The only sounds to be heard after were the cries of seagulls and the crashing of waves. When Jon and Wyllard commanded the men to ready themselves thousands donned their helms and hefted up spears and banners. Wyllard stared in silence at the army of men whose faces were now hidden behind dark steel. Jon donned his helm as well, the world growing dark save for a narrow slit.

"Now we wait." Jon's voice boomed in his helm in a way that made Wyllard jump. They did not have to wait long, for Ser Wyllis broke free of his wonder soon after and waved the Manderly party forward.

"Order, march!" Jon spun his horse about as Wyllard repeated the command.

The clattering of thousands of hooves upon the cobblestone streets drowned out the noise of the carriage wheels and the sea itself. White Harbor's streets were wide and open, its city watch having cleared people out of their path. As the Dark Order winded its way through the city, onlookers packed along the street sides, hanging out windows or the tops of roofs to watch their passing. Some appeared fearful, others pointing in wonder at Black Balaq's exotic features, while a few were cheering to see young Wyllard at the head of the army.

The boy giggled and waved to his people, beaming to be a part of this grand parade. Jon felt surprised at how much fun he was having as well, the child's joy warming his heart some.

Until Wyllard turned to look up at him with his wide, earnest eyes.

"One day I'll be just like you!" The boy spoke sincerely. "I'll be in the Dark Order! I'll fight! Just like you!"

In that moment Jon remembered feeling so eager to join the order's march. It felt like an eternity ago. A time before he'd ever shed blood or taken a life. Before he'd watched a friend die or seen a child's corpse rotting in the hot sun. Before he'd ever won a victory, only to see the families of the men he'd defeated whipped and enslaved in his family's name.

Through his helm's slit Jon saw all of Wyllard's youthful joy plain upon his face. Everything else was darkness.

It scared Jon how much he preferred that to the boy's hope. The nothingness to those dreams.

They only served to remind him of a time when he'd shared such foolish hopes.

When he knew nothing.

 **WINTERFELL**

"Arya wait!"

Sansa's command was hushed yet firm, her steps hurried as she chased her sister across the courtyard. It was already filled with people rushing about, so Arya's flight towards the Great Keep didn't draw much attention. Sadly the sight of Sansa and her friends chasing after Arya caught many an eye.

They were all dressed in their fine gowns, the other ladies doing their best to show off their best features. Jeyne Poole, already very pretty to begin with, had her hair braided so all could see her lovely face and lively brown eyes more clearly. Talia Forrester moved gracefully in a gown as dark a green as the needles of an ironwood tree. Beth Cassel's curly, auburn locks made up for her plainer face and her dress hugged her wide, attractive hips in an eye-catching way.

Arya and Sansa were dressed very much alike, both wearing dark grey gowns with white stitching at the collars and sleeves. There were differences though. Arya's thick, dark hair flowed freely while Sansa's was bound up high in a conservative manner. Arya's embroidery was done in the pattern of running wolves while Sansa's were roses. The neckline of Arya's dress was cut lower at the front, her bust being smaller than Sansa's yet still shapely enough to display. Her sister protested against it all but she was a maiden flowered now and mother insisted Arya dress like a lady on this day.

Yet there was nothing ladylike in how her sister acted now. She was forced to watch as Arya's skirts were dragged through the mud of the yard, dirtying a gown that Sansa had personally dressed her in. All five of the young ladies had spent much of the morning readying themselves in her chambers. Their normal dressing maids were all called away as part of the frenzied efforts to ready Winterfell for the arrival of its guests.

 _Mother worries our family will look poorly to the Targaryens_ , Sansa thought, _yet_ _they are the ones_ _who have shone poor manners._

 _They weren't_ ' _t expected for another week_. _T_ _his Dark Order must move like the wind._

Arya was only moments away from reaching the hall and Sansa had no doubt if she did that Mother's fears of being shamed would come true.

"Arya please!" She begged. "It is not worth it! Just stop!"

Arya did stop, but not because of her pleas. Nor was it the guards standing at the hall's wide oak and iron doors who barred her entry. Instead it was Lady who blocked the way, the grey direwolf's massive body moving back and forth as Arya tried to dart around.

"Lady move!" Arya demanded, stamping her foot. "You should be helping me!"

"She's helping all of us!" Sansa snapped, grabbing Arya by her shoulders and spinning her about. Angry grey eyes stared back at her and it hurt to think of father then. "I asked you to stop. I asked you not to make a scene! What would you have done in there? In front the entire northern court?"

"Exactly what that shit deserves!" Arya crossed her arms and looked to the other girls. "Tell me you don't think Robb should know!"

Talia made a sympathetic sound. "It was a ghastly thing for him to say about you Sansa. My brothers would want to know if someone said such a thing about me-"

"Now's not the time." Jeyne said, hushing Beth before she could speak. "There are so many lords and heirs in the hall! Father says we'll never have a better chance of finding husbands. If Arya pitches a fit she'll spoil everything-"

"Then you should have held your tongue." Sansa shot Jeyne a baleful look, for it had been her clumsy attempts at gossip that sent Arya charging down here in the first place.

Arya was not the only one angry. The entire Kingdom of the North was clamoring for a new war in the south. Robb was willing to give them that war, hence why his most powerful bannermen had been gathering at Winterfell for weeks. While certainly busy with preparations for war, mother had found time for Robb to see to other arrangements as well. She apparently agreed with Vayon Poole that now was a fine time for matches and betrothals to be made.

Sansa wondered how many knew of Robb's offer to the Karstarks. Lord Rickard's eldest son Harrion was already wed, yet his second son Eddard remained unpromised. Robb had fought beside Eddard Karstark at the Siege of the Dreadfort and liked him well enough to offer Sansa as a bride. It came as no surprise to learn that the match was not to be, and in truth she felt relieved to hear so, yet Sansa sensed that mother had held back some details on the matter.

Details that Jeyne learned during a visit to the godswood, hiding behind a pine as the Karstark brothers spoke in confidence. Apparently Lord Karstark had been amenable to wedding his son to Sansa, but only if Eddard was named the new Lord of the Dreadfort as well. Robb grew wroth at the demand, arguing that a marriage to Sansa should be honor enough and seeking the Bolton holdings as a dowry was an insult.

Robb was ignorant to a worse insult though. The one Jeyne overheard Eddard Karstark giving voice to in the godswood.

"Why shouldn't I get the Dreadfort?" Jeyne had heard Eddard say. "If the Starks want me to take that ruin of a lady, the least the king could offer is a ruined castle as well. At least the Dreadfort has fewer scars and can be rebuilt with time. We stormed the Dreadfort in the hundreds but, the way I hear it, even that castle had less men through its gates than Sansa Stark."

Her friend blushed to repeat the insult to Sansa at the time, for it embarrassed them both. She wasn't ignorant of what people thought of her. Joffrey had spread tales far and wide of his branding her and lies about giving Sansa over to his castle guard. Robb harshly punished anyone who repeated such falsehoods here in the North yet they persisted still, Joffrey's cruelty tainting her body and reputation both.

Sansa was prepared to ignore the Karstark insult, treating Eddard and his entire family with courtesy despite the disdain she caught in his eye. He likely still whispered slights about her, though thankfully the lordling was being smart enough to refrain when Robb was near. Sadly, Jeyne had not been as careful when whispering the tale to Beth during their dressing. Arya's ears were as sharp as a direwolf's and her anger just as fierce.

Yet as Sansa held her, Arya's eyes betrayed something far worse.

"Let me tell Robb." Arya urged her. "He shouldn't have tried to give you away to that arse to begin with. When he finds out what Eddard said, Robb will beat him bloody. If father was here-"

"Father's gone Arya. He's dead." Sansa retorted, tightening her grip on Arya's shoulders. "That's why you must leave this be. If you tell Robb he would surely do as you say and it could force a rift between us and the Karstarks. We need them now. Robb needs their men and horses to avenge father. To keep us all safe. Please Arya, words are wind. You can't let our family suffer for me."

 _That's what is important, not some lordling speaking truths I'd rather keep hidden._

 _I am scarred_. _I am ruined_. _I_ ' _m not worth Robb risking his campaign._

 _I wasn't worth Sandor's life._

"That's not right." Arya said softly, her anger falling away. "He should apologize. You're a pain sometimes, but you're not ruined… you'll always be prettier than me at least…"

She smiled. "That has not been true for some time. You have a woman's form now Arya, and a graceful manner. Enough to make any man swoon, or at least ignore the mud on your skirts."

Arya looked down to the dirtied dress yet seemed more annoyed by how much of her bosom was displayed. It was distraction enough for Sansa to extract a promise from Arya not to confront the Karstarks. Her sister mumbled a vow before making to fidget with her neckline. A part of her saw this and felt jealous. Sansa envisioned herself wearing a gown which showed more skin than her neck and wrists. In that moment she wished to dress like a maiden again, seeking her true love once more.

Until she caught how the guards at the doorway were looking at her.

Alebelly and Fat Tom meant nothing by it truly but the way their eyes moved swiftly over her body set her skin to crawling.

"Princess, your mother was asking after you." Alebelly said while Fat Tom mimed a swoon at the sight of the young ladies, setting Beth to giggling.

"Has everyone been summoned to the throne room?"

"No, not yet." Alebelly looked morosely to the door. "The lords and ladies are being served mulled wine… piping hot and sweet smelling… I bet's grand tasting…"

She felt relieved to hear so and promised to have some wine sent out to the men. Grabbing hold of Arya's hand, Sansa hurried the others within. The Great Hall, large as it was, looked near to bursting from the great numbers within. The lords and ladies of the North and their retainers mingled and moved about the trestle tables, their chatter filling the hall with an air of excitement. Nearly every noble family was represented. Sansa spotted the Hornwoods, Lockes, Glovers, and Flints to name a few.

There was no sign of Robb or mother but she spotted Bran and Rickon near Smalljon Umber. Her brothers both wore white doublets emblazoned with the grey direwolf of the Starks, looking quite handsome as the Smalljon regaled them with some tale.

Cley Cerwyn shared a laugh with Eddara Tallhart, the newlyweds amused by the Umber's passionate re-enactment of a battle. Rickard Karstark and Galbart Glover appeared quite put out by the Greatjon's loud declarations of promising to lead the van into battle. Talia waved to her brother Rodrik and his wife, Elaenor Glenmore, while her twin Ethan blushed to behold his sister's friends.

At the sight of Beth, Ser Rodrik Cassel smiled widely, putting a hand on Ethan's shoulder and waving his daughter onward.

 _That would be a good match,_ she thought, _Ethan is quite kind and well-read, and Beth would make a fine goodsister to_ _Talia._

While thinking of betrothals Sansa caught sight of the Karstark brothers, all three sharing steaming tankards of mulled wine. While Harrion spoke softly with his Bracken wife, the younger two both turned to admire the group that Sansa led. Eddard's smile quickly turned to a smirk at the sight of her, a whisper to Torrhen causing him to chuckle. She kept her chin raised high as she passed by them, doing her best to ignore it.

Eddard's reaction was an easy thing to miss if one wasn't looking for it. Unfortunately for him, Arya had been watching for just this very thing. A shout and the sound of a splash erupted from behind her.

"Ah! Fuck!"

Eddard's cry of pain bid half the hall to look his way, finding the Karstark brother covered in the hot wine he'd been drinking only moments before. While he hissed in pain, Arya stood before him, nudging at the empty tankard with her feet. Sansa put the pieces together and groaned at Arya's wilfulness once more.

"How clumsy of me!" Arya raised a hand to her mouth, either feigning innocence or hiding a smile at how Eddard struggled to keep his soaked clothing from touching his skin. "I fear your clothing must be _ruined._ "

"Gods! Watch where you're going!" Eddard snapped, his face red with wine and anger. "Are you blind girl?"

"Princess." Sansa interceded then, putting an arm around Arya and meeting Eddard's fierce gaze. "Arya is your princess Eddard Karstark, and you would do well to address her appropriately. A proper washing can fix those stains but it will do little to mend poor manners. Surely my lord will beg forgiveness for being so discourteous to his king's sister?"

Her words flowed like venom but were spoken as sweetly as cider. Still, Eddard bristled and might have worsened things had his father not stepped in.

"Of course he will." Lord Karstark turned a stern eye to his son. "The hall is full, mistakes are made. Apologize."

Eddard swallowed, his jaw clenched. "I apologize for my discourtesy, princess."

"And I'm sorry for your clothes." Arya curtsied in the same false way she would whenever mother forced her to apologize to someone. "Oh, and the wasted wine."

"We'll see to the washing." Sansa added, leading Arya away before she suddenly found a tad more courage, looking over her shoulder to the burned and embarrassed lordling. "Perhaps you should see a healer my lord. We would not want you burdened with any scars."

"Oh now that's pushing it." Arya whispered, barely holding back a giggle.

Sansa had to admit that it felt good to see Eddard embarrassed in such a way and felt relieved to think that Arya's anger was now sated, all without destroying the bonds between Robb and the Karstarks. It was the best of both worlds really.

Soon two other worlds would now meet, as a herald called out to the hall.

The Targaryens had been sighted from the castle walls, meaning soon enough House Stark would be welcoming their distant kin home. Sansa joined her siblings and the rest of the northern court in departing the hall for the throne room of the Great Keep.

It was mostly empty when they arrived and far too grim for Sansa's liking. The long room was drab and grey, the only color coming from the scores of vassal banners hanging upon the walls. At the far end of the room, at the top of several raised stone steps, Robb sat the weirwood throne of House Stark. The throne was quite magnificent, tall and white, its armrests carved into the shape of direwolves. Beneath his crown, Robb's brow was furrowed in thought as he watched his family and bannermen enter. Grey Wind was doing much the same from his place at Robb's feet, the wolf's massive form barely fitting on the wide step.

Mother stood beside the throne, dressed in a black gown befitting her mourning of father. Sansa and Arya were never meant to attend the hall in the first place, so mother eyed them curiously as the Stark children took their places nearest the throne.

"Sansa?" Mother asked curiously. "Bran and Rickon were to lead the procession from the Great Hall, did something happen?"

 _Arya happened._

She nearly said such but held her tongue as the dampened form of Eddard Karstark made to stand with his family to the side of the room.

"Nothing happened." She lied. "I just wanted to give the lords in the hall a chance to see the others. The light is so much better there and my friends all look like visions today."

"No more than you." Mother smiled to stroke her cheek, her attention moving to Sansa's hair. "Your hair is so lovely Sansa, I wish you would let it down, your father always said… well nevermind. What matters is that you are here and what you've done with Arya."

Mother's turned to Arya then, her sister misunderstanding the sudden attention and beginning to shake her head vigorously.

"I didn't mean to! I swear-"

Arya's words fell away when Sansa put a finger to her lips outside mother's vision. Mother paid it little mind as she inspected Arya's hair and dress before waving Bran and Rickon on as well. She nodded in approval at Bran before using her sleeve to clean the back of Rickon's ear as he fought her.

"What do emperors care about dirty ears?" Rickon asked.

"High King." Sansa corrected. "The Targaryens have a High King, not an emperor. Truly Rickon, you must pay more attention to Maester Luwin's lessons. Little slip ups like that can make you look unlearned and men who do not read cannot lead the maester- do not stick your tongue out at me!"

Sansa made to snatch the little boy's tongue out of his mouth when he ducked behind Arya. Mother put a stop to Rickon's flight soon after before the sounds of horns began coming from outside the keep.

"It is time." Robb declared from atop his throne. "The dragons are here, gods help us."

Once Robb might not have sounded so displeased to welcome guests to their home. Yet he had gambled much on seeking an alliance with the Targaryen Empire, many here in the North distrusting the dragons and their strange ways. Some even thought Robb weak for seeking help at all. She feared his gamble had not been worth it. They had heard troubling rumors that instead of a grand army arriving at White Harbor, the Targaryens had only brought a few thousand mounted warriors.

 _An insult perhaps_ , she thought, _but why would Aunt Lyanna come all this way just to insult us?_

 _Why would she bring her son_ _as well?_

These questions still tugged at her mind when the doors to the throne room swung open and members of Robb's personal guard led a large party within. Morgan Liddle, Lucas Blackwood, and Olyvar Frey were all armed and dressed in fine tunics yet they could not hold a candle to the splendor and fearsomeness that followed behind them.

At the head of the strangers, walking beside Uncle Benjen, strode a slim, dark-haired woman wearing a crown of blue gold. Her gown was silver save for the wonderful blue patterns that twisted across the bodice and down her arms like vines. Flanking her were two helmed warriors in the finest suits of armor that Sansa had ever seen. Both men wore white enamel with cloaks as pure as snow and so she named them as Highguard, the sworn shields of the imperial family. The larger of the two carried a poleaxe yet it was the second man that drew the eye, his skin appearing to be a strange, foreign color.

Rickon gasped at the sight and Sansa shushed him, never once taking her eyes off the growing number of strangers. In contrast to the white clad warriors were a score of men armored in steel and mail as black as night. Only half wore helms as they followed the procession and those who didn't shocked her for reasons as different as the men themselves.

One large man had dyed his hair and beard green, another had skin far darker than the Highguard who'd surprised Rickon and wore a cloak of bright feathers of many colors. A grizzled, older man with grey hair walked beside a tall, muscular warrior with a comely face who reminded Sansa of someone. The next face was one she could name easily, for Asher Forrester was Talia's older brother, second born son to their family and exiled from Ironrath years ago. Ethan and Talia's faces lit up at the sight of Asher while Rodrik's turned to stone, as if his brother had no place being here.

Which could not be said of the leader of this company, who looked as much a northman as any. His hair was a familiar shade of dark brown, his beard full yet neatly trimmed. He was tall in stature, lithe of body, yet strong looking all the same. The black armor he wore was so well polished it caught the light like the obsidian dagger that Maester Luwin kept in his study.

He could have been called handsome if Sansa did not find his expression so solemn. His grey eyes were much like Arya and father's yet lacked any familiar warmth. Instead they seemed cold as she watched him look over the faces of the room, perhaps with a hint of distrust. It was then that she noticed the blade at this man's hip, one with a masterful handle of artistry, yet a weapon all the same.

 _Robb should have had them all disarmed,_ she worried, _this hall might be filled with Stark men but they_ _could_ _react too slowly._

 _What if we're in danger? What if we've invited monsters into our home again?_

She looked to Robb and found his eyes moving from the Targaryens to Grey Wind at his feet, the direwolf unmoving as it watched all this as well. When Uncle Benjen and the regal woman arrived before the throne, her uncle shot a smile the children's way.

"King Robb!" Benjen bowed to her brother. "Your grace, my dear nephew, allow me the honor of presenting your aunt, Lyanna Stark, High Queen of the Targaryen Empire! The Majesty of Summerhall! Queen of the Freehold-"

"He does like to talk, doesn't he?" The Queen interrupted, taking her skirts in hand and curtsying to Robb. "As wife to the High King, I offer you greetings and friendship from the Targaryen Empire your grace. As your father's sister though, I offer my nephew the love of an aunt."

"I must play two roles then." Robb answered, rising from his throne and descending down to stand in front of their aunt. Lyanna was tall enough to meet his gaze and her eyes widened some when Robb bowed. "As King of the North I welcome you to Winterfell your grace, its comforts are yours. May it be as warm as your words. And as your nephew, I welcome you home Aunt Lyanna."

The Queen smiled at that, offering her hand which Robb took and kissed lightly. He then raised it high for all to see, turning Lyanna so the entire court could bask in this moment.

"We Starks are united once more!" He spoke loudly. "The Starks endure! The North Remembers!"

"The North Remembers!" The court echoed, the Greatjon's bellow was nearly matched by the largest Highguard warrior, who pounded his poleaxe down to make his point all the clearer.

As soon as the cheer died away, the grey-haired warrior from the dark number broke free from the others and made to come right at them. Sansa drew back in fear yet was shocked when mother laughed and made to meet the man, the two enveloping each other in a warm embrace.

"Oh uncle." Mother clutched him all the tighter. "Uncle Brynden, words cannot express how good it is to see you… it has been too long, far too long…"

"I missed you too Cat." The older man's lined face wrinkled in a smile as they pulled apart. "Forgive me. I mean I missed you, _your grace_. Having travelled half the world, let me tell you, you are still the most beautiful woman I've ever known."

"You should have come _here_ after your falling out with father. Ned would have welcomed you, if only for me." Mother's voice trembled towards the end, the man clutching her hands.

"I am sorry for your loss. Ned was a good man."

"A great man." Benjen added, to a grumble of approval from others. "We're going to make the Lannisters pay for my brother's death. I'll fight to the death to see that happen."

"But will the dragons?" The Greatjon asked, stepping out from among the crowd to stand at its fore. "We could've marched more than moon ago yet we stayed here. Our king was promised an army and you bring what? A few pretty horses?"

"Jon Umber." Lyanna shook her head to walk towards the man, reaching up to tug his beard with a grin. "Just because you're louder than most doesn't make you more loyal to the Starks than me. Handsome devil that you are."

Sansa had never seen the Greatjon blush before and before he could reply, the Queen held out her hand to the leader of the dark warriors. He locked eyes with Robb as he came on, Lyanna laying a hand upon his shoulder.

"King Robb, meet the man who will help you and the North drive Tywin Lannister scurrying back to Casterly Rock. My son, Jonarys Targaryen, Lord-Commander of the Dark Order."

"Which I can assure you…" The dark prince glanced to the Greatjon. "Are more than a few pretty horses."

"Far less than a legion though!" Galbart Glover added before Robb held up a hand, as if to restrain his bannermen. Sansa knew it to be a mummery though. Robb wanted the Targaryens held to task for their poor showing of support, yet could not sully their visit by doing so himself.

"Forgive my vassal's vigour." Robb offered his hand which the prince shook firmly. "When your father agreed to waging war alongside us against the Lannisters, we expected a famed Targaryen legion to arrive at Winterfell. Three thousand is far less than ten Prince Jonarys."

"Jon."

"Pardon?"

"You may call me Jon." The prince answered stiffly. "My father has not bestowed the title of prince upon my brother or myself. I have been named Lord-Commander of the Dark Order, so if you wish, you may title me as a lord."

Sansa shot a look to Rickon, inclining her head so he could catch the importance of studies.

"May I now?" Robb's jaw clenched some, clearly displeased to be corrected in front of the entire court. He swallowed down any anger he had then to lead both the queen and her son to their family.

One by one they were presented to the royal pair, Lyanna acting with far more warmth than the prince. The queen embraced mother like a sister, offering whispered words that Sansa assumed to be condolences. Their aunt then gave each of the children a kiss upon their cheeks, Sansa earning two for some reason.

"Dear Sansa, it is good to meet you." The woman spoke quietly to her, holding her fingertips gently. "Even across the Narrow Sea I've heard of your trials. I admire your strength and envy your beauty."

"I must say the same of you." She felt her cheeks growing red to think that her shame had reached as far as the Targaryen Empire. "When I was a little girl, I used to dream of this day. I would beg father to let me visit the empire, to meet my aunt, the High Queen."

"You would've been a feature at court to be sure." Lyanna smiled as Jon finished kissing Arya's hand and Sansa offered hers next.

His grasp was firm, his skin rough, likely weathered from the grip of a sword or the reins of a horse. When she raised her eyes to meet his, she expected to find them roaming over her body like all men did. Instead Jon gazed right back into her eyes, and it was then that she thought herself wrong earlier. His grey eyes weren't truly cold, only sad.

The saddest eyes she'd ever seen.

"Princess Sansa." He said in a formal tone. "It is a pleasure."

"My prin- er lord." She caught herself. "I hope your stay will be pleasant. I fear Winterfell might be a bit too drab for someone who was raised in a palace the likes of Summerhall. The Heartlands are even more agreeable than the banks of the Rhoyne, or so I've heard."

Jon raised an eyebrow at that. "Your castle is impressive princess, as is your knowledge of the empire. Most Westerosi assume that the royal family lives in the capital. Just as many in the empire think of the North as a frozen wasteland, filled with savages."

"Oh." Sansa wondered if the last part was a slight. "And what do you think my lord?"

"I never thought such foolishness to be true but I admit to underestimating your lands." His face warmed some then. "Summer snows might bother my men but I find them refreshing. The North has a harsh beauty, difficult to see at times, but it is there if you look… I believe its people are much the same."

She felt flattered by this handsome prince, a sweet thing to think on until a darker thought sprang to mind. Years ago, another prince had stood before her in this very hall, comely and full of flattery, blinding her to the evil within him. Joffrey had ruined her as much with his with his false smiles as he did with his burning brand.

 _You're letting your silly dreams blind you again. Every word could be a lie._

 _He leads an army… an army of warriors have come to your castle… men who could hurt you… take all you hold dear._

Sansa drew back from Jon then, too upset to act more gracefully. He looked at her strangely but did not linger, his eyes following Robb as he climbed back up the steps to sit upon his throne. Robb bid the Targaryens to stand before him again, adjusting his crown as he stared down at them.

"Now that we Starks are all reacquainted, I hope you understand that I must show respect to my loyal bannerman, lords who hunger for justice almost as deeply as I do. They came when I called on them, bringing every man they could. You might have noticed them, twenty-five thousand hardened warriors, waiting outside the castle. Waiting for my aunt to bring her husband's promised strength. Was I wrong to ask them such? Combined, the Lannisters and the Durrandons can field four times our numbers. Your contribution does not change that figure-"

"Wars are not won by numbers on a parchment." Jon broke in, earning a harsh look from his mother. "I apologize your grace for being abrupt, but the Dark Order can match and defeat any mounted force the Sunset Kingdoms can offer."

Robb did not look convinced. "I have more heavy horse gathered here at Winterfell than your entire order. With that alone we could overwhelm you and I have even more horse in my holdings in the south."

"I wouldn't bother to send for them, your defeat would be certain either way and it be a waste for them to journey so far for such."

"Watch your tongue!" The Greatjon bellowed as the tall, muscular Dark Order man moved to stand between the lord and the prince.

"I mean no disrespect to your warriors." Jon ignored the Greatjon, still gazing up at Robb. "So I ask that you show respect to mine. I would never drag them so far for a hopeless cause. The Dark Order stands against foes that others wouldn't dare. We will fight with you against your enemies. Take my word when I say that we are more than what we seem."

Uncle Benjen stepped forward then. "It's true Robb, I've never seen a force that moves like theirs. Such order and speed, and then there's the ships they brought. War ships, docked and ready for battle at White Harbor as we speak. Our fleet size has been doubled with them, the Durrandons will never match us!"

"This war will not be won at sea." Robb pointed out, many lords voicing agreement, only to be silenced by a look from the High Queen.

"My son speaks the truth! As does King Robb!" Lyanna spoke loudly. "The Dark Order will prove to be a powerful ally in the days to come, yet even with its might and that of our fleet, defeat would be likely! That's why we've arranged for the Golden Legion to join our fight!"

"The Golden Legion?" Robb leaned forward in his chair as Sansa's mind whirled with tales of the most storied army in the empire. "They come to the North? When? How much longer must we-"

"They have already arrived in Westeros, but they are not coming north." The dark prince answered. "My brother led his army to Dorne. There he shall join his strength with that of House Martell and together they will lead thirty thousand out of the Dornish passes. Marching to war against the Kingdom of the Storm."

The importance of his words caused the entire room to quiet, Sansa holding her breath at the thought of the Golden Legion marching against Joffrey. Robb's face was carefully placid, but Sansa knew he was hiding his excitement.

"I see, an attack from the south. The Durrandons will be too busy fighting off the Dornish to aid the Lannisters in their war with us… their forces cut in half. Our strength nearly equal." Robb's smile was a grand thing to see after weeks of him worrying. He rose from his throne and opened his arms wide. "That will teach me to doubt my aunt and cousin! This alliance could help us win back lands lost to us! Perhaps even take new territory from our foes!"

"Yes… land." Lyanna's tone changed, her face becoming somewhat stern. "I'm glad you brought that topic up dear nephew, for we must secure your agreement on the matter of the Durrandon lands before sending word to Aegon-"

"What's this about land?" The Greatjon asked. "The Dornish want land from us?"

"Not from you Lord Umber." Prince Jon answered. "The Martells seek some new lands this is true but it is not them we speak of. No, it is the empire that seeks territory. My father wishes to expand our holdings here in Westeros, beyond Dragonstone. We desire the lands nearest to the island, those currently held by King Joffrey. From the Bay of Crabs as far inland as-"

"I don't understand." Sansa spoke up, surprising herself as much as the court then. This turn had been too shocking for her to stay silent though. "We thought you were coming to help us fight our enemies. To get justice for my father."

"If your brother agrees, we shall." Lyanna gave her a sympathetic look. "Trust me my dear, I want to avenge Ned, the brother I loved so much. Yet my wants must come second to the empire's needs."

"You did not come for honor then." She looked up the queen in a new light. "You came as a Targaryen, not a Stark."

"We came to stay." Jon met her eyes then, the sadness still there but something akin to regret as well. "You will have your justice princess… but we will need something in return."

 _You were right_ , she thought, _you were right not to trust him._

 _Kind words hiding their true wants. A good cause to cloak their desires._

 _They did not come to help._

 _They came to take._

 **JON**

He liked this castle.

Jon couldn't quite put his finger on why but as he walked the outer wall of Winterfell there was no denying it. As a king's son he had stayed in finer places, like the spacious manses of Valyrian nobility or the grand palaces scattered across the Heartlands and along the Rhoyne. Places of untold wealth with warm air and blue skies. Far different than the grey sky above his head now and the cool winds bracing him.

He liked the briskness of the cold and the fresh scent of pines and hearth fires that lingered in the air.

Some of his companions were not so easily won over. Behind him Gendry stood shivering in a heavy cloak while Asher shook his head.

"Gods, big as you are Gendry your shaking is going to tear this wall apart."

Gendry was embarrassed. "I should've worn that heavy wool too, it kept me warm on the ride. This castle spoiled me is all. The walls block the wind and that keep is as warm as Summerhall."

"Tempting to stay out of the cold isn't it?" Asher's face grew grim. "My father used to say that's why only the strong survive in our land. Sooner or later, you've got to face the cold."

"Winter is coming." Jon said, turning his gaze beyond the castle and to where the Dark Order camped outside the South Gate.

Their tents and horses lines were raised in an orderly fashion, their camp ringed with stakes and ditches. Mother was displeased he ordered such but it was an act of discipline on the order's part and he wouldn't have his men growing lax now. Even from this height he caught sight of hundreds at practice. Black Balaq led his longbowmen in loosing at makeshift targets while Lem and Thoros guided others in drills with the sword and spear.

 _They will be ready, I have faith in that,_ he thought, _I just wish I had as faith in our allies._

"Three days." He said aloud. "Three days King Robb has had to support our strategy and three days he's gone without speaking of it."

"It's a lot to take in." Gendry wiped at his wet nose. "I grew up in the Kingdom of the Storm and heard all the tales. Of how large it was in the good times or how it shrunk in the dark years. No one ever cut it into shreds before…"

"A big move." Asher nodded. "There's been Seven Kingdoms for a long time, longer than there's been an empire that's for sure. Now we show up saying all that's going to change."

Jon shook his head. "It was folly telling the Starks as we did. My mother and I wanted to lay out our plans before we ever left Summerhall but Varys convinced my father otherwise. He told the king we risked enemy agents learning of our plans before we were ready. With the murder of Eddard Stark and the rebellion of the Boltons, Varys argued that some of the northmen could not be trusted."

"Some can't." Asher spat over the wall, crossing his arms. "My brother Rodrik and I visited Winterfell often so trust me when I say Robb Stark is one of the good ones. He's got the look of his mother but it's his father's code he follows. King Eddard stuck to his word, even when no one else kept theirs."

"Sounds like you Jon." Gendry added. "Give the Starks time, they'll hear the queen out and see you for the man you are."

 _I hope they don't. Gendry's fought beside me and seen the same horrors but he's never had to take responsibility for them._

He can wipe the blood from his hammer but my hands will never be clean.

"Prince Jon!"

A youthful voice interrupted his brooding, drawing their attention to some nearby stairs. The three youngest Starks were coming his way, a trio of direwolves among their number. Two were grey and the third was black, Summer, Nymeria and Shaggydog. Each as different as their masters.

"Prince Jon!" Bran called out happily as the lanky young man beat his siblings out in their race to him. "Good day to you!"

"It's Lord Jon, remember?" Arya cuffed her brother, the young princess reminding Jon of mother then.

Rickon cuffed Bran again. "Don't you listen to Maester Luwin?"

"It's alright." Jon saved Bran from the other two. "People call me much worse and I survive. How can I help the noble princes and princess of the North?"

The three all looked to one another, having a silent argument before Arya rolled her eyes and pointed to Jon's hip.

"The boys wanted to see your sword but they're too cowardly to ask. Of all of us, how am I the one wearing the dress here?"

Gendry's jaw dropped at the girl's audacity while Asher's laughter drowned out the protests out her brothers.

"Arya Stark, you have not changed." Asher grinned and Arya beamed at him before giving Gendry a look that bid him to close his mouth. Jon swore she looked him up and down then.

"We're not cowards!" Bran spoke up. "We just didn't want to be rude is all."

"It is no trouble." He gave the youths a grin. "It's only fair I think, you walk around with your direwolves for all to see, living weapons as much as the dragons ever were."

The Starks all watched eagerly as he reached down to draw free the sword his father had gifted him before leaving for the North. The handle was a collection of silver barbs wending upwards into two arcs. The pommel was made in the same fashion, but encrusted with bright red rubies. When he pulled it free the Valyrian steel longsword gleamed even in the weak light of the cloud-covered day. Its blade was long and sharp to the touch, slimmer than the average longsword and lighter too.

"This is Dark Sister." He named the blade, holding it before his cousins, who gazed at it in awe. "It has been wielded by Targaryens for time untold. High Queen Visenya wielded it during the founding of the empire."

"It's a girl's sword?" Rickon made a face and Arya shot him a filthy look as Gendry came to Dark Sister's defense.

"A sword is no less deadly because it was wielded by a woman. I've seen many blades my prince but few as fine as this one."

Jon stepped back and slashed through the air in a swift arc that sang in the wind, causing the boys to jump and Arya to smile widely.

"Stronger than any normal steel yet half as heavy. Prince Daemon, the founder of the Dark Order, he wielded this blade. As did Aemon the Dragonknight and Brynden the Bloodraven."

"And now you do." Bran spoke respectfully. "Maybe one day people will talk about the same. Jonarys the Terrible!"

"Terrible is right." Asher spoke with mock severity. "Not don't be telling anyone that Jon was showing Dark Sister off. Our Lord Commander has a reputation to uphold. Many say he never bares his blade lest blood need be shed-"

"They don't need to hear that." Jon spoke far more sharply than he meant to but would spare these children any tales of his butchery. All grew quiet and he knew the mood had been spoiled. He was sheathing Dark Sister once more when he caught sight of another grey direwolf walking the battlements in their direction.

When they'd first been brought before Robb Stark his eyes had immediately moved to the direwolf at his feet. Jon held a deep respect and appreciation for horses but he had never lost his breathe at the sight of one like he did with Grey Wind. To him the wolf was the second most beautiful thing in the room.

He was not so free to stare at the loveliest.

The very same princess who now followed behind her wolf. Her thick auburn hair was drawn back in a long braid, her cheeks a touch bit red from the wind's chill. She wore a gown of the lightest blue, though he saw little of it beneath the white fur cloak she had pulled tightly around her. Beneath it he knew there was a graceful and womanly body but it wasn't that which drew the eye first. Truly it was the bright blue of her eyes that pulled him in.

And the fear in those eyes that bid him lower his gaze.

"My lord." Sansa spoke evenly, her eyes locked on where his hand still rested on his sword hilt. "Is something amiss?

"No, no not at all." He lifted his hand free and bowed quickly to her. "Forgive me I was just showing your siblings my blade-"

"He usually doesn't!" Rickon smiled widely. "He only shows people he's about to kill!"

"That's not true I-"

"Rickon, come here please." Sansa's face grew cold, her hand outstretched towards the boy. "Arya, Bran, you too. Forgive us my lord, but Ser Rodrik awaits my brothers for their sword practice and Arya is needed for… well Arya is needed elsewhere."

"Oh Jon do come!" Bran's face betrayed none of the unease the princess clearly felt. "Please, I want to show you how well I can fight. Maybe you can change mother's mind and let Robb take me south."

"Bran, do not put him in such an awkward position." Sansa chided her brother. "Robb decides who marches with him and I'm sure the lord has better things to do-

"I will be happy to watch my cousins spar." He said, making to join the younger Starks as they moved towards the stairs. "Though your sister is right, it is not my place to tell your family where to send any of their people. Whether it be an army or a prince. If your brother wishes you here there's no shame in it. I was older than you before I ever marched to war. Sometimes I wish I had been older still."

He caught the surprise on Sansa's face at his words, she was likely not used to hearing men sound so foolish. Bran acted downtrodden for a time but Rickon's excitement brought the older boy around soon enough. They chatted with him excitedly, bragging about their victories over other boys while Arya insisted she beat both her brothers with branches any chance she got.

During their descent Sansa remained rather quiet, to his dismay. In the throne room he'd had a taste of her charm and a glimpse of some bravery as well, few woman ever dared challenge his mother when she took on her mantle as High Queen.

 _Sansa only said what all were thinking, what you were ashamed of yourself._

 _We should have come as friends, as family, not as conquerors._

 _I cannot blame her for thinking poorly of us. Nor King Robb for distrusting me._

When they arrived in the training yard the king was already there, speaking with several others, including Rodrik Cassel, the master-at-arms. Robb was grinning as words passed between him and his men, that was until he saw who his siblings led into the yard.

"Lord Jon." Robb inclined his head curtly. "I heard you were inspecting your men from the walls."

"He's come to watch us spar!" Rickon exclaimed before Bran and he rushed off to don their leathers. Arya made to stand with him but Sansa urged her away so both girls stood beside their brother.

"You need not stay." Robb gestured to the yard's arched exit. "I imagine a commander of the Dark Order has many duties to see to."

"The boys were set on me watching. If it makes them happy it is worth my time. Sometimes it is good to remind ourselves why we fight."

"Well said, although if I remember correctly you fight for land." Robb countered, ignoring Sansa's quiet admonishment and pressing on. "Or has something changed in the last few days that makes you value my family as much as I do?"

Jon met Robb's eyes then, a stare not borne of anger, more of a challenge. After growing up with Viserys and Aegon he knew well when someone was attempting to draw his temper out.

"If I am unwelcome your grace I will leave, I can tend to my own men's training."

"Surely you are welcome." Sansa broke in, her voice soft yet firm as she took hold of Robb's arm, a gesture he ignored.

"Yes, do stay. Perhaps later I can visit your camp and witness this training. It would be a sight to see what sort of practice can make you claim such a meagre force to be unbeatable."

Jon seized on that. "If his grace would like a demonstration I can arrange one right now. Choose your finest guard and I shall produce a challenger."

He spoke not in anger, for an idea came to his mind as he spotted a number of Dark Order men leading horses through the castle grounds. Robb nodded, smiling at the opportunity to show him up, calling forth a guardsman named he named as Hal Mollen. A muscular man with a thick brown beard, he took up the challenge with a smile. Jon then hailed his passing men, one in particular out of the lot and who had once called Westeros home himself.

A thick necked men-at-arms who stood a head higher than Jon and was quite confused at the whole situation.

"Grenn." Jon gestured towards the Starks. "King Robb would have you spar with one of his men. Do us proud. No blood though."

Grenn looked to his challenger then. "I'll do my best m'lord."

With that the black-clad man drew his sword and went forth to meet his opponent. A small crowd formed around the pair, Bran and Rickon pushing around Ser Rodrik to have the finest view.

"Live steel?" Sansa sounded incredulous. "Robb surely blunted blades are needed."

"Warriors do not clash with blunted swords." Robb answered and Jon nodded, feeling only a twinge of shame for risking Grenn so.

Asher held up a gold coin to Gendry. "I wager he takes it to-"

"Put that away." He ordered, not taking his eyes off Robb. "This is not about wagering or winning. This is a point that needs to be proven."

Robb let Arya start the bout by giving a shout and Hal struck first. The blow was swift and well-aimed, Grenn's defense slower but able, knocking Hal's blade back. Two more strikes from the northman drove Grenn back a couple paces but the third he stepped aside and let Hal overstep. A kick to the guardsman's hip sent him stumbling. Then Grenn was on the attack. Powerful blows that were careful and well-placed, his steps pushing Hal where he wanted him. Grenn acquitted himself ably, a fine fighter, but it the Stark guardsman who won the day. Both men were sweating when Hal finally knocked Grenn's sword free and Jon's man yielded.

There was so shame in the loss and Robb did well by Grenn, complimenting him on his swordsmanship before offering Jon his hand.

"A fine display." Robb said, gripping his hand like a vice. "He pressed Hal for sure and he's been training at Winterfell since he was a lad. Sadly this only proves my point, as fine as Hal and your men fought the Lannisters have better warriors, thousands of them. Three thousand Grenns will not turn the tide-"

"Grenn joined our ranks only half a year ago." He said in a straightforward manner. "He was a slave once, a simple laborer who had never wielded a blade before. A farmer's son before that. Look at what we've done with him in such a short time. He's among our rawest recruits whereas most of my men are seasoned veterans. Trust me when I say in Essos only the Unsullied are as well trained, that's the kind of army I offer you."

Robb looked at Grenn then, hand going to his beard with an expression that bordered on disbelief. He didn't blame him, before Jon learned the rigidness of life in the Dark Order such a transformation would seem doubtful.

There was nothing but doubt on Sansa's face as she watched her brother treat with Jon. He saw that she wrung her delicate hands slightly and found himself remembering how soft they'd felt in his grasp during their first meeting. It bothered him for some reason to see them moving so nervously, yet it clearly disturbed Robb more when he caught Jon looking to his sister.

"Your army may be all you say but I'm not yet sure if you've presumed too much on my family." Robb moved to block his view of Sansa. "I trust men who've fought by my side and few others."

Asher stepped forward at that. "You trust my brother don't you? Well you crossed swords with him in this yard countless times, stubborn rivals if I remember correctly. Now you trust him with your life, things change your grace."

"If any was an expert on how things can change it be you Asher." Robb eyed the sergeant with distrust before he took to nodding. "A fine point though. Bran! Come here at once, Rickon, fetch me a sword!"

All were confused as Robb backed away and removed his cloak, handing it off to Arya before lifting his crown off his head for Bran to hold. Jon began to suspect where this was going when Rickon appeared with a longsword for Robb.

"I've caught a glimpse of what abilities your men can boast." The young king lifted his sword in a challenge. "Let's test your mettle, Lord Jon. Let me see if you are the type of man I can fight beside. If I can trust you to have my back."

Gendry gave a small shake of his head and Jon had no illusions that his mother would do any differently. Beating Robb might embarrass the king and destroy this alliance before it was ever sealed. Losing to him could do the same.

Yet when he caught the princess's eyes on him he felt the urge to do as Robb asked.

To show the Starks the type of man he was. To prove to them he was someone they could trust.

"Asher, lend me your sword." Jon removed his own cloak then and unstrapped his sword belt to hand off to Gendry. While Asher offered him his blade Robb raised an eyebrow.

"Is the famed Dark Sister too good for the likes of me? Or do you worry once I knock the blade from your hand I might claim it as my own?"

The taunt earned laughter from many of the watchers while Sansa's eyes widened at the sight of Jon pulling lifting up Asher's blade. She was clearly fearful for her brother and he wished he could explain that he chose the simple longsword over Dark Sister to spare her such worries.

For he had no urge to kill Robb Stark.

Even if he was really starting to dislike the bastard.

 **SANSA**

"To King Robb!"

The dark prince's toast rose above the din of the Great Hall as hundreds raised their voices and goblets to shout her brother's name. From her place at the high table Sansa had a good view of the entire hall, its tables filled with guests straining to get a glimpse of the spectacle near her.

Lord Jon, who had been seated beside Robb at the center of the royal table, was now standing tall and holding a tankard of ale high in the air. Not to be outdone, Robb rose and raised his tankard into the air as well.

"To my cousin Jon!" Robb shouted as he laughed. "Now to find out who has the greater thirst for victory!"

More laughter followed that, her great uncle Brynden and Gendry calling out Jon's name from the table filled with Dark Order men. Arya acted little better, competing with Bran and Rickon for who could pound upon the table louder. Even mother and Aunt Lyanna looked to be trying to outdo each other in showing disapproval at their sons' behavior.

 _If only they'd been in the yard earlier all this foolishness might have been averted._

 _What was Robb thinking challenging the dark prince in the first place? Why did you hold out hope the Jon would refuse?_

 _He's not so different from any other man…_

Robb and Jon were certainly acting like men now, the most boorish kind. She wished she could sit with Jeyne or Talia for she had little interest in watching a king and prince see who could drink ale the fastest.

"Get on with it!" The Greatjon laughed. "I want to see which beast has the greater thirst! A wolf or a dragon!"

After that Robb clanked his tankard against Jon's and both young men lifted their drinks to their lips. As they gulped down their ale the hall rang with cheers for both men, she even spotted Dark Order men placing wagers with northern lords.

It wouldn't be the first time today one of her brother's contests with the prince led to bets being made.

Robb and Jon's bout in the yard was a fine display of swordsmanship, far better than Hal's duel with the order man beforehand. Her brother fought well, driving Jon all apart the yard. In the end though the speed and grace of the prince had led to his sword being laid near to Robb's neck. It felt like the whole yard, including herself, had held their breath in that moment. Had Jon wished it, the North could have lost its king then and there.

When Jon lifted his sword away and bowed to Robb it had felt good to breathe again. Robb showed grace in his defeat, shaking the prince's hand and complimenting his abilities. How that led to the two deciding to test their riding skills she wasn't sure.

Bran and Rickon's lessons were forgotten as half the castle gathered to watch Jon and Robb ride at rings. That contest had ended in a tie, not once or twice, but three times. When they decided to move outside Winterfell for a race around the castle's walls onlookers had packed all the gates, joining with the camps without in cheering the riders on. Mother and Aunt Lyanna had appeared around then, both pleasantly surprised at the time to see Rob and Jon laughing as they raced by.

Rob had won the race yet the contests had only just begun. A test of archery had come next, which both did quite poorly at. Then a foolish game the Wulls suggested which had Robb and Jon running with logs and seeing how far they could throw them. There appeared no end to the cousins' rivalry but it was clear the ice-cold regard the two leaders held for each was being melted by these contests.

Sansa's fears lessening with them. Over the last few days she'd watched the Jon and Lyanna intently, wary for any sign of cruelty or betrayal. Her eyes weren't closed like they had been with Joffrey but they caught no glimpse of a monster in Jon. Instead she saw a man who treated people well, whether they be kin or strangers, lowborn or highborn. He rarely smiled but caused others to do so often, her siblings especially.

 _It had been kind of him to show them Dark Sister_ , she thought, _I knew he meant them no harm._

 _Yet I still quivered and shook like a scared child… I cannot live my life fearing every strange man with a sword._

 _Robb will likely marry me to one some day._

That thought made it hard to laugh with the others when ale spilled down the sides of Robb's mouth as Jon gulped at his tankard desperately. The prince's efforts were to no avail, Robb tipping his tankard fully over before pulling it away with an ale stained smile.

"A winner!" Uncle Benjen laughed heartily, pointing at Jon who made to lower his ale. "Oh no you don't! Finish what you start!"

"I think an end is what's called for." Mother declared loud enough for Jon and Robb to turn her way. "Or are we to endure a juggling contest next?"

"Sorry moth-" Robb burped loudly, sending Arya and Rickon into a torrent of giggles. "I am doubly sorry mother. We are tied though! We can't let it end at a tie!"

Aunt Lyanna clearly disagreed. "Oh I think that's a marvellous place to end your contests and begin our merriment nephew. I remember how the bards disliked the northern cold and how I longed for music in my youth so I had a minstrel brought with us from Summerhall."

"A wonderful idea your grace, I'm sure Sansa would agree." Mother nodded and Sansa clapped her hands together at the thought.

"A minstrel would be grand! Does he play southron ballads or the eastern tunes? I've never heard Jenai of The Sorrows sung by a bard of the empire before."

"Then we must change that." Her aunt raised a cup of wine to her. "If only to see my sweet niece smile. Robb, may I have the minstrel sent for?"

Robb appeared put out, surprising her by looking to Jon as if to hear his thoughts on the matter. Jon did not seem enthused either and she feared him to speak against it until his gaze fell to her and something changed.

"Some music could be welcome." He said to Robb with a hand to his chest. "If only to comfort me after my embarrassing performance."

"Ha!" Robb patted the prince's shoulder before turning to face the tables. "It appears I've been neglecting my fairest guests! Well good women, Queen Lyanna has arranged for some fine entertainment for us this evening, so let us raise a toast to her!"

After the goblets were raised the queen called to the Highguard standing to the far end of the table. Ethan Glover wore no helm now and the red gnarled flesh about his demon brand was there for all to see. It saddened Sansa to think of Sandor then. Of how sweet it would have been to have him here, sitting beside her as a minstrel played for them. When Ethan left to collect the musician it drove the hard truth home.

 _That man will return but Sandor is gone forever. Resting in that pitiful grave I dug._

I hope flowers have grown near it… some roses perhaps… his life was so ugly may his rest have some beauty to it.

Her sadness was helped some by how Talia and Beth clapped and beamed when the minstrel arrived. He was an older man with a distinguished air about him, holding his chin high and cradling his harp as if it was a child. Lyanna must have planned this beforehand for without a word from her or request from the audience he struck up a northern tune.

Many still made noise throughout the hall, drinking and eating to their heart's content but nothing could drown out the minstrel's heavenly voice or the harp's soothing playing.

She sipped her wine and closed her eyes, letting the singer's lyrics take her far away. To when she had been a young girl, dreaming of the world songs painted for her, of gallant knights and lands of forever summer. Of a time before she was touched by the darkness, before it scarred her so.

 _A better time… a better me…_

After first song ended Robb rose to lead Lyanna down for a dance. Jon did the same for mother and Benjen offered Sansa his arm. Her uncle was a decent dancer, the music slow enough that they fell into an easy rhythm. Robb and Lyanna were all smiles, her brother acting so dashing half the young women present appeared jealous. Her mother and Jon made a handsome couple as well, the older woman's natural grace brought out by the prince's swift steps.

Robb was her next partner, then Bran, and she'd thought to drag Rickon out after since the boy was too shy when it came to dancing. Mother had other plans however, leading Jon over to her with a pleased look in her eye.

"Sansa, do our guest the honor of a dance." Mother took hold of her hand. "Someone taught him well and considering today's events I think it only right to have his skill tested by the best dancer Winterfell has to offer."

Sansa and Jon both sought a way out of it.

"Mother… I thought to take a rest…"

"It's no bother I could take some wine-"

"Nonsense." Mother declared, pressing Sansa's hand into Jon's. "Exhaustion, sore feet, thirst, I've always felt a good dancing partner can make that all feel distant concerns. Have fun, be young, and treat her kindly my lord."

"Of course." Jon nodded curtly, his fingers wrapping around hers in the same tender way he had when they'd first met. "If the princess allows?"

"I do." Her voice was barely above a whisper, out of embarrassment and anxiousness. This would be the first time someone other than her loved ones held her so close since Sandor.

When his hand went to her hip, pressing firm against her body, her heart began to beat faster. It only grew worse as they drew together, their chests so close Sansa feared he'd feel her heart pounding like a drum. She prayed her hands would not grow clammy and was nearly caught unprepared as the next tune started up and Jon led her on. He clearly knew the steps to this dance, guiding her hips about and his feet staying clear of hers. Still, something felt amiss. Jon's movements lacked all the finesse he'd shown with mother and his other partners. With them his face was at ease yet when she glanced to him now Sansa found his jaw set and eyes distant.

 _His other partners weren't scarred and tainted… Lyanna heard of my shame across the Narrow Sea._

 _Of course Jon did as well._

"I apologize my lord." Her words brought Jon's eyes down to hers. "My mother should not have put you in such an awkward position… truly if you wish to see to your thirst with some wine feel free to do-"

"Awkward for me?" He sounded confused. "Sansa, I only said that because I did not wish to force you into a dance. There's a hall full of proper northmen to choose from and I'd not stand in the way of you finding a better partner. Your mother was only doing me a kindness."

"A kindness?"

Jon's face reddened some. "I might have remarked on your dancing. It is- I mean you move- well you catch the eye. There are balls thrown during the Lyseni love goddess festival, events filled with the empire's finest dancers, and if you were there trained performers might stand back and take notice of you."

It was her turn to blush as Jon raised her hand high and spun Sansa about. When she returned completely into his hold she could not help but smile.

"You're too kind Jon. Far too kind, it's you leading us now. As well as you do I wonder how you keep so well practiced? I did not see any women among the Dark Order so I must ask, is sergeant Gendry a nimble partner? Asher perhaps? He's doing quite well himself."

Jon blinked at her jesting while a hint of grin pulled at his lips. His gaze followed hers to where Asher was dancing with Talia, her friend's face full of joy to be in her older brother's arms.

"That's something." Jon remarked. "Mother insisted I learn dancing as a child but I never pegged Asher for it as well. The most dancing we do in the Dark Order is with blades in our hands. Sometimes I think of myself as a dancer when I face a swifter foe than usual. My blade becomes my partner and I must find a way to lead it into doing away with-"

He tensed then, his grip on her hands growing lax and eyes widening. She'd been listening so intently that Sansa feared to have step on his feet.

"Forgive me." Jon closed his eyes. "I've been on the march too long, my mind goes to dark places. I speak of foul things in sweet times... this is why all are wrong to call me a prince. Surely a true prince would know better."

"Most are ignorant of the worst in this world." She said, tightening her grip on Jon's hand and shoulder, bidding him to stay with her. "You were telling me a story Jon, it did not scare me to hear it. Here in the North hardly a tale is told without blood or death being mentioned. Even the love stories."

"I'm afraid I'm short on love stories." He spoke softly, his fingers once more entwining with hers. "Too many years among harsh men… now that I'm among fairer company it be nice to hear a sweet tale or two. Would you know any Sansa?"

"I did once." Their next step had their chests brush up against one another, his eyes not moving from hers. "Stories I've not told for some time… but I'd be willing to revisit. If only to repay you for this minstrel, and a splendid dance my prince- oh I'm sorry-"

"Pay it no mind, for this dance I can be a prince. If only to be worthy of a princess."

She knew better than this. Jon's words were too kind, his smile too comely and touch far too welcome on her body. Yet Sansa could not deny how all that made her feel or that she wished this dance to continue on and on. So when the minstrel finished the song she felt like beating the musician with his own harp, no matter how well he played. Jon acted disappointed as well and she had hope he'd ask for a second dance when the Greatjon came to tower over them.

"Jon Targaryen!" The lord spoke in a tone full of either threat or enthusiasm, she truly couldn't tell with him. "I thanked Lyanna for the frilly minstrel but he interrupted my king when he was on the cusp of victory!"

"Those silly contests again." Sansa sighed. "They're at an end, aren't they?"

"There's one more!" The Greatjon laughed, pointing to where his son and several others were moving people away from the dancing space. To her shock she saw Robb unbuttoning his doublet as Cley Cerwyn poured ale into his mouth.

"I saw all that fancy footwork Jon!" Robb called out. "Let's see if you've got the strength to match that speed!"

"No." Sansa shook her head. "No Robb we're having such a proper evening-"

"And this is a proper wrestling match!" Rickon interrupted from where he now stood upon a table, earning cheers for his boldness. "Just like when King Rodrik Stark won Bear Island from the Iron Islands king! Wolves fight! Starks wrestle!"

"Well said lad!" The Greatjon laughed before facing the Dark Order table. "I've got three barrels of ale on my king!"

"A fool's bet Umber!" Uncle Brynden shouted back, Thoros the Red Priest leaping up from his seat.

"Oh I've got a thirst! Show the wolves what for Lord-Commander! R'hllor will watch over you!"

Jon stood silently taking this all in, a bemused expression on his face. When he glanced her way she willed him to see it all a folly. How a true prince would prefer a dance with a princess over some silly wrestling match. That for a little while longer Sansa could pretend she was not a scarred, ruined thing and be the girl she'd once been.

Instead Jon grew somber and he nodded towards Robb.

"I'm willing enough to serve you one last defeat Stark."

"Then come at me coz!" Robb laughed, pulling free his shirt and displaying his broad, muscular chest. Jeyne and Beth's tittering at the sight might have amused her once but Sansa was too upset.

Jon didn't even notice when she left his side to go and join mother and her aunt in scowling at the whole affair. Men were forming a circle, taking wagers and shouting encouragements while Sansa felt as discouraged as could be.

 _Which is silly, Jon owes you nothing, it's not his duty to make you forget all your suffering._

 _He speaks of harsh times but he comes from a land of untold splendor, where princesses are beautiful and free of scars…_

"How about a wager dragon?" Robb asked, cracking his neck as Jon entered the circle of men, undoing his shirt clasps. "If I win, the best horse in your company is mine! A fine steed to mount for my battles to come! Go ahead and ask anything of me in case you win for I doubt I'll have to pay up!"

"We have nothing he'll want." She sighed to mother, who raised an eyebrow at that.

"The prince wanted something earlier. That was clear to all Sansa."

"Mother!" She hissed quietly. "Please, don't-

Her words caught in her throat when Jon lifted his shirt free. His body was as lean and muscular as she thought it might be, the smoothness of his skin sending a warmth spreading through her chest. That was until she saw the marks on his body. The scars across his chest. Another at his shoulder. A couple at his back.

Robb had the odd mark here and there but those were nothing compared to Jon's. His words of war and suffering struck a different chord with Sansa as he glanced her way for the briefest of moments.

"I'll take your wager wolf." He said, cracking his knuckles as the two men began to circle one another. "But I ask for something far better than any horse."

"Name it." Robb bared his teeth and readied his arms.

"After this fight, the minstrel plays again." Jon said, his feet moving surely over the ground. "He plays again and he plays a song of Princess Sansa's choosing. He keeps playing until she's had enough."

"A song she loves and wishes to dance to."

"For I'd have a dance with a princess."


	3. Chapter 3

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ASOIAF.**

 **The Fall of the Hoares**

 **The end of House Hoare and the rule of the ironborn in the riverlands is owed to two men who never lived to see the fruits of their labor. Rickard Stark, King of the North, and Steffon Durrandon, the Storm King, were united in their hatred of ironborn. The North had been raided relentlessly during the reign of King Harwyle Hoare while the Blackwater and Trident were used to ravage the Durrandon holdings as well.**

 **A pact was formed between the Starks and the Durrandons to drive the reavers out of the riverlands for good. The Tullys, and other river lords chafing under iron rule, joined with them. Prince Robert, the Durrandon heir, was betrothed to Lyanna Stark while her brother Brandon was promised to Catelyn Tully.**

 **Neither marriage was meant to be for the gods mock the plans of men.**

 **King Steffon died during a voyage to Dragonstone in an effort to win Targaryen support for the war. Slavers killed Brandon Stark and abducted his sister, her story continuing on elsewhere. At the time many blamed the ironborn for the lost Stark vessel and Robert turned his rage towards the Hoares.**

 **King Harwyle was an ineffectual leader, unpopular even with his own people. With the Durrandons, Starks and Tullys united against them the Hoares lost several battles, eventually being forced back to Harrenhal. From there Harwyle sent word to his most powerful bannerman, Balon Greyjoy, to rally more men from the Iron Islands to break the siege.**

 **Those reinforcements never arrived. Following Robert's betrothal to Cersei Lannister the Kingdom of the Rock raised a fleet and threatened the Iron Islands themselves. Some say Lord Balon refused to abandon the islands to the lions while others claim he preferred a larger crowd for a kingsmoot he believed soon in coming. The Hoares and Harrenhal held out for months before mines dug beneath the massive walls allowed Robert and Eddard Stark to invade the castle. The fighting was fierce and every living member of House Hoare died in that battle. Among the fallen was the King in the North, leaving his son Eddard to lift his blade and avenge Rickard's end.**

 **Thus Robert and Eddard finished the work their fathers began. The krakens were driven back into the sea. The riverlands divided between the wolf and stag. It was said the two kings remained good friends for years after.**

 **Until the lions tore that peace asunder.**

 **JON**

The weirwood rose tall and proud before him. Today the northern sky was a dark grey which made the heart tree's red leaves stand out all the more. The canopy was the color of blood, the tree bark as white as bone.

This tree even had a face, one with deep, dark red eyes that seemed to follow him. Jon was a stranger to this castle yet the heart tree gazed at is it knew him. It was an odd how that didn't bother him. In truth, it felt natural. Like everything about this godswood. He felt at peace in this dark, wooded part of Winterfell. The air had a damp chill to it and was filled with the smell of pines. This was the North.

A land Jon was drawn to even in his dreams of late. When he'd stepped into the godswood moments ago his senses had came alive with the memory of last night. When Jon had been running through a forest, far darker and larger than this one.

Something driving him onward. A hunt. He was hunting. Following a trail and scents left behind by prey.

 _Enemies, threats,_ he remembered, _beasts that meant great harm._

It had all felt so real that when Jon awoke he'd expected to feel the earth beneath his feet, his hands pressing down on pine needles and roots.

Now he ran his hand down the weirwood's bark, finding it to be as smooth as it appeared.

 _The Dark Order has no finer longbows than those made of this wood. As elegant as it is strong._

 _Just like a certain daughter of the North… a true beauty…_

"You look a true Northman."

His uncle's words caused Jon to turn away from the tree then, for he had been ignoring Benjen.

"Feel free to offer a prayer Jon." Benjen inclined his head towards the weirwood. "Starks have been praying to this heart tree since Bran the Builder raised Winterfell. That's what the stories say at least. You have as much right to that weirwood as the rest of us."

"I have less." He replied. "My mother told me of the old ways but we Targaryens are raised to follow the gods of Valyria. Queen Elia chose the sect of Balerion for Aegon and Rhaenys, mother chose Vhagar for me."

"Can't I say I've heard much about it."

"Rituals. Candles. Offerings. Statues of naked people. All normal by Valyrian standards." He backed away from the tree and gestured to his dark clothing. "Never had much time for it after I joined the order. I was taught to put my faith in the man next to me and to earn his in return. That seemed more important than dragging a sheep before some altar."

"No sheep for us, less ceremony too." Benjen kicked at some fallen leaves and grinned. "More foliage though."

"Fair trade." Jon shared a smile with his uncle. He liked the man and begrudged only having met Benjen so late in life. It made him wonder if he would have got along with mother's older brothers as well.

 _Many say I remind them of Eddard Stark. It would have been nice to know him I think._

 _He sounds a good and honorable king. A man like me could have learned from him._

As he thought on that he heard voices coming through the godswood. Benjen had brought him here on Robb's command and he recognized the king's voice easily enough. Robb appeared soon after, with no other than Jon's mother on his arm. Ethan and Tumco followed closely behind while the Blackfish caused Queen Catelyn to laugh happily. It cheered him to note how similar it was to Sansa's laughter. Jon heard that sweet sound more and more often of late. Her smiles as well.

Jon did not dare delude himself to think they were for him alone. Sansa was never truly alone with him. Most of the time they spent together was among other Starks. Like when he gave the Starks a tour of the Dark Order's encampment or joined them for a ride about their lands. Somehow the princess and him always found reason to grow near. To have moments where they spoke only to each other. When Sansa's smiles and laughter even brought good cheer to him.

He remembered how much his body and jaw had ached after the wrestling match with Robb. A hard won victory on his part yet all his hurts had been worth it to bring Sansa blushing and smiling out for one more dance. The pain only came after her hands left him and those blue eyes looked elsewhere.

 _Stop it. Your mind is off thinking on that foolishness when it should be on the task at hand._

 _For all you know the Starks are ready to give their answer. The fate of kingdoms could be at stake._

 _An empire itself._

If that was the case he took heart, for when mother left Robb's side she did so with a wide smile.

"Jon." Mother kissed his cheek before doing the same to Benjen. "Benjy, I hope we did not keep you waiting."

"Oh it was a real trial." Benjen winked at Jon but something about his words caused Robb's good spirits to die away.

"Interesting you should mention trials uncle." Robb said as he shook Jon's hand firmly. "We had a raven from Hornwood. Another village was attacked and some outlaws hung. They spoke of Ramsay Snow swearing vengeance upon me."

Benjen spat. "More Bolton leftovers? Their lord and heir are dead, the Dreadfort taken. They couldn't beat the Stark so they take it out on the smallfolk? Defenseless innocents?"

"Trying to live up to Roose's legacy no doubt." Catelyn added with a shake of her head. "Let us hope that is the last of them."

"I'm doubtful of that." Robb said. "I've decreed that any seeking shelter shall be permitted entry into their lord's castle. Winterfell included. It is for us to protect their homes and if we cannot, we must share ours."

Hearing that impressed Jon. To him it was a kind and noble decree, a rare thing indeed. Most rulers were unconcerned with the suffering of their people. If it spared a lord some hardship, he'd allow his subjects to endure horror after horror. That Robb clearly felt a deeper responsibility to his people was just another reason Jon had come to like the king.

"Is there anything the order can do?" Jon asked then. "You've welcomed us to these lands, we won't begrudge helping to defend them."

Robb grasped his shoulder. "Thank you Jon, but I believe you and I have greater trials ahead than just facing bandits. More powerful foes as well. To the south."

The two regarded each other a moment more before Robb let a small grin slip free and Jon could not help but join him.

"The alliance?" He looked about at the others, finding them to be just as pleased. "You're accepting it then?"

"I am." Robb nodded. "The Kingdom of the North and the Targaryen Empire shall march as one. Together we'll preserve my realm and create a new kingdom altogether."

"Splendid news." Mother beamed, cupping Robb's hand in hers. "Absolutely splendid. Today starts a new day between the direwolf and dragon. A new era for the Seven Kingdoms and the empire itself-"

"It surely will." Queen Catelyn interrupted. "As long as some conditions of ours are met."

"Conditions?" Mother appeared shocked as she looked between Robb and Catelyn. "You spoke of no conditions earlier."

"Nor did you until the royal party arrived at Winterfell." The queen replied. "Lyanna, you made it quite clear the empire is not willing to help us out of the goodness of your husband's heart. Just as you have demands, so do we. Fair is it not?"

The High Queen did not take that well. Mother enjoyed being back at Winterfell but even her patience was wearing thin at how long Robb and his bannermen considered their offer. Aegon had found far more success to the south, the Martells already committed to joining the war. His messages to the North made it clear Aegon viewed their slow progress as a hindrance to the High King's plans.

His mother had been enraged to read such words and Jon caught a hint that anger in her eyes now. So before she could speak to it he took Queen Catelyn's hand in his and kissed it respectfully.

"I understand fully your grace. The king is well within his rights here. What must we do to join in common cause?"

"Well said coz, well said." Robb nudged him. "I'm eager to get south, my father must be avenged and our lands defended. My uncle Edmure warns of Lannisters probing into the riverlands and the Durrandons doing the same. Together we might throw them back but I need more than your word on all that's been promised. We want a guarantee. We want something that binds us together…"

"We want a marriage." Catelyn added, her eyes locked on Jon in a hopeful way. "A marriage between you and my daughter. We want you to marry Sansa, Jon."

Jon was speechless. This wasn't the first time he'd been offered a match before some great campaign. He'd rejected all the others out of hand. His duty to the order came before gaining some well-bred woman he hardly knew. Yet something about this offer gave him pause.

Mostly because he didn't feel worthy of it.

"Out of the question." Mother stepped between Jon and the others. She kept her voice low yet she gripped her skirts tightly, a sign of her anger. "Jon cannot be part of this bargain. It was never an option."

"It must be." Catelyn answered, not shrinking at all. "If you wish our support for your future conquests you must take my daughter as a bride. If you are to win new lands with Stark men, you must wed a Stark woman."

"But I cannot." He protested weakly. "I am… I am honored, truly, yet I'm already sworn to the order. I have only served six years. Men of the Dark Order serve for seven years before we can be free to leave… or take a wife…"

Rather than being offended Catelyn smiled then, waving the Blackfish forward.

"I hate to correct you on your own company's rules but I've spoken at length with my uncle about this. Apparently there's a precedent for men of your position."

"There is." The Blackfish ran a hand through his grey hair, mindful of the hard look he was earning from Jon's mother. "Ah, sorry. Didn't see much harm in sharing some order history with Cat…"

Before the old knight even need speak to it Jon knew exactly what he was going to say. He could've smacked himself for forgetting it in the first place. When Daemon Targaryen founded the Dark Order he'd been a widower. Yet only five years into his lordship over the order Daemon took a Velaryon wife. He declared that since he served as Lord Commander, and carried the weight of command, that such a reward was due to him. No other Lord Commander had ever done the same and that was partly why Jon let it pass from his memory. More than that he'd long ago accepted his future was in the order. That he was good for little more than war and killing.

The Starks felt differently, Robb and Catelyn both challenging him to say the Daemon precedent couldn't be applied to him.

"It could be." He answered. "Though it would mean I give up command of the Dark Order once my service is up… that's when Daemon left-"

"The order is not what matters here." Mother declared, pointing to Jon and the white dragon insignia on his sword sheath. "There is more at stake than merely building a new kingdom in Westeros. There's an entire empire to think about. Jon could be the next High King and he must wed carefully. His choice of bride could affect the council's decision."

Catelyn seized on that. "Then a Stark bride should not hinder Jon in the least. Afterall, Prince Rhaegar wed a Stark and he was still chosen as heir."

Before mother could respond Benjen weighed in as well.

"Come on Lya. It's a fine match. Jon's a good man. Sansa's a true lady. Wed them and North and East are bound together. You more than anyone know how important marriages like this can be…"

"I will not give away Jon like father did with me!" The High Queen rounded on her brother. "And you're wrong Benjen! Sansa does not have the kind of reputation many would welcome in a new queen…"

Mother caught herself then, sharing a look with Ethan whose expression darkened. His was more sorrowful though, unlike the anger that spread across Robb's face.

"What do you say of my sister?" He made the mistake of speaking harshly and stepping forward at the same time. Ethan moved swiftly to bar Robb's approach, holding his hand up to slow the heir.

"Easy your grace." Ethan warned before mother nudged him aside, looking stricken.

"I apologize. From the depths of my heart I do. Sansa is a sweet girl and I more than any have no place deriding her reputation… yet as a mother… as a High Queen… you must know that the tales regarding her stay in the south have reached the empire. Tales that put her in a dark light. Of scars and worse…"

Jon knew full well what tales were whispered about his mother's time as a slave. They enraged him and father both. Yet he couldn't reconcile that with what he was hearing about Sansa.

"What happened to Sansa in the south?" He asked, drawing all eyes to him. "I heard she was held captive by the Durrandons during the last war but little more. They wouldn't have dared mistreat her though. Not the daughter of a king. Not one as kind as…"

None answered, all trading unsure glances or avoiding each other's eyes entirely.

"She was a hostage." He pressed, feeling a foul suspicion growing within him. "Betrothed to King Joffrey…"

"We don't speak of that monster." Catelyn nearly whispered, a touch of grief to her voice. "Lest to wish for his death… for all he did to my daughter. For the scars he left her."

"He hurt her?" Jon's fists clenched. His muscles tensing. "Joffrey scarred her? He had her in his care and he did that? By what right does he live? I thought your seven forbid such things!"

He rarely ever felt such anger. It couldn't be helped. Not when he pictured the princess who smiled and laughed for him being hurt by some shadowy figure. He remembered the fear he'd seen on Sansa's face every time he reached for a blade. His mind went to dark places wondering what had instilled such terror in her. His rage was so that the others eyed him warily, all save for Robb. The king went so far as to put his hands on Jon's arms, gripping them tightly.

"One day Joffrey will rot in the seven hells for all he has done." Robb looked into his eyes. "I owe my sister that. That and more. I think you're the man to help me do right by her. To give her justice. To give her the life she deserves."

 _If all this is true I'm not… she deserves better…_

 _Sansa's already had to abide one monster._

"Ask something else." Mother sighed. "Anything. I admire Sansa… I understand her trials but if I'm to see my son as High King one day I cannot agree to matching him to Sansa."

"Just Sansa?" Robb released Jon to face Queen Catelyn. "If it cannot be her we'd be willing to accept Jon wedding Arya instead."

"Arya?" The High Queen blinked some and put a hand to her chin. "Perhaps, she might be more acceptable to us-"

"Us?" Jon snapped. "What is this we, mother? Did we not speak of this back at White Harbor? I am not a child and you've no right to speak on any of this. Nor to speak ill of Sansa!"

"Jon!" Mother flushed in embarrassment. "I'm safeguarding your birthright."

"And I'm fighting your war." He gestured to Dark Sister. "Another bloody war for the empire. It's fine to send me off to kill and conquer but it's too much to let me choose my own wife? How many more must I cut down in my family's name before I earn that right? How much blood must I spill? Or shall I die first?"

Few things rattled his mother. Very few. Yet now she acted as if she'd been struck. Her eyes glistened and a hand went to her middle. A wind blew over them all and the shaking of the leaves above was the only thing to be heard. He could not say he regretted his words. Father always said he was as stubborn as his mother.

So he scorned her then to address the Starks.

"I am as free to make this decision as my father was. It is I who command the empire's forces in the North. It is I you shall deal with."

Queen Catelyn did not hesitate to come forward and take his arm.

"Might I ask to speak alone with you Jon? I fear this was not handled as it should have been."

He accepted the woman's offer, wishing to be anywhere but near his own mother. Half due to his anger at her, half because of how horrible it felt to see her pained by his outburst. Robb and Benjen made no argument, his uncle speaking softly with his distraught sister while Catelyn led Jon deeper into the godswood.

"My daughter was beaten." The Queen spoke softly, gazing up at his face as he tensed at the words. "Sansa was branded and scarred. She was threatened with horrors far worse. Does that make her unworthy in your eyes?"

"No." He struggled to keep the bile down. "Yet I think the match is a poor one. Your daughter has been through so much. She deserves better than me."

He meant those words to comfort the woman but it appeared he failed. Her expression saddened some and she looked away from him. All that made it a surprise when Catelyn placed a hand over his and patted it gently.

"I wish Ned could have met you. He and I were never meant to marry. I was for Brandon but he died so my father made me wed Eddard instead. At first I found him cold and harsh… that he was displeased by me. It took Ned far too long to open up to me… to confess he thought himself unworthy of me."

She stopped him, running a hand through her hair in a sad, longing manner.

"I don't think I ever convinced Ned differently. He made me so happy… we loved each other so. We loved our children just as much. And we failed Sansa. We gave her over to Joffrey and all that befell her is because of that. Do you think I would let her go through that again?"

"I would pray not." Jon spoke sincerely. "And I rarely pray. Very rarely."

"I've noticed that. Do not take this the wrong way but since your arrival I have made it my duty to learn about you Jon. My Uncle Brynden hates most people and distrusts nearly all the rest. A true Blackfish. Yet he claims you to be one of the finest men he's ever met. That he would be willing to die for you."

"The Blackfish said that?" His eyes widened. "Well I'm his commander… it's his duty-"

"What duty did you owe those slave women?" She asked with a raised eyebrow. "Benjen told me about the two northern women you freed from bondage. You had the Manderlys give them shelter and work. As I hear it you made it clear their treatment was of great concern of yours. Were they your mistresses?"

"They were not." Jon shifted his stance awkwardly, the woman's gaze as unwavering as Ethan's. "I would not bed a woman who had no freedom in the matter. My father's empire enslaves countless innocents… I freed two. It is no great feat."

"Benjen thought differently." The Queen replied. "My husband would say you acted honorably. All I've heard marks you a decent man. One who cares for others more than himself. I could rest peacefully knowing Sansa was wed to such a man."

Everything she was say was wrong and he shook his head at all of it. He also tried to push away the thought of Sansa caring for him. Of how it would feel to return from some campaign and find her waiting. To have a woman so sweet to hold. To hear her laughter. To earn her smiles.

 _When I joined the order I was full of dreams… now I battle endlessly for an empire I can barely stomach…_

 _What would it feel like to have something worth fighting for again?_

His silence did not sit well with the queen, who lifted her chin in a regal manner.

"A marriage is what the King in the North demands for this alliance to bear fruit. To fight as one the Starks and Targaryens must become one. If you cannot accept Sansa then we offer Arya instead. One or the other Jonarys. Stand with us or ride away. That is the choice before you."

Queen Catelyn made to take her leave then, striding away from him with her skirts and hair catching some in the breeze. Her auburn hair was as lovely as Sansa's and he couldn't deny the resemblance then. Or the truth of how he was always saddened to see the princess walk away.

"Your grace, you are wrong." He called out, Catelyn Stark stopping to face him. "I have no true choice in this. My father's will must be done. So I will do what I must. But as I said before, I shall never force any woman to abide me."

"So the choice is not before me."

"It is before Sansa."

 **SANSA**

"I don't know which I'd prefer."

Beth giggled at Jeyne's musings while Talia and Arya both made faces. Likely because both their Robb and Asher were among the men Jeyne was speaking about. They were all out on a midday ride through the Wolfswood, Sansa and her ladies, Robb with his men.

And Jon with his.

He rode side by side with Robb as their horses ambled through the trees around the shrubs ahead. Asher was laughing with Olyvar while Lucas Blackwood and Robin Flint pressed Gendry on the quality of the Dark Order's chainmail. Once the parties would not have mixed as they did now. That was before Robb warmed to the dark prince. Now they spoke together with ease, passing jests and tales like old friends.

 _They've grown so close in such a short time,_ she thought, _Robb won't let nervousness and fear keep cripple him._

 _I can barely speak to Jon without my demons returning… how am I to marry him?_

"Sansa." Jeyne whispered conspiratorially, smirking and hiding her mouth behind her hand. "Well? Who do you is more comely?"

"I think it's Asher." Beth giggled again. "Ethan looks a lot like him."

"I look like Ethan too, we're twins remember?" Talia said with a sharp tone, causing Arya to laugh. "King Robb is far more handsome anyways."

"What of Gendry?" Jeyne asked. "He's as tall as the prince and built larger than Robb himself. Oh and his eyes…"

Jeyne made a mummery of swooning then which did not appeal to Arya one bit, her sister's face scrunching up in anger.

"You sound like Alebelly when he's had too many." Arya quipped. "What's it matter what Gendry looks like anyways? You said he's not the marrying sort."

"Well he's not Arya. As far as I've heard he's a baseborn bastard, with no true name either. We can still find Gendry comely though. What do you think Sansa?"

"I cannot say." Sansa said, the gossip about suitors worsening her anxiety. "I'm betrothed Jeyne. My eyes are only for the man I am to wed. It would not be proper for me to do otherwise."

"There's no harm in just looking." Jeyne added. "Men do worse than that even after they marry."

 _I know the worst men can do… I've endured much of it… it mars my body still._

 _And after Jon gets a look at me his eyes will surely more elsewhere… the marriage will be a disaster…_

That's exactly what Sansa had said when mother came to her with the news of the betrothal. She'd been looking forward to joining Arya and Bran when they sought out Jon that day. Without her family or others about she could not bring herself to seek out the prince's company. He likely only tolerated her presence out of courtesy to them and she felt ashamed to prey on his kindness in such a way. Yet it felt good to be around Jon. To speak with him. To earn a rare smile from the somber prince. Sansa's mind had to fight hard to keep her heart from betraying her. To believe she'd finally found a brave prince.

Which was precisely why Sansa wept to learn she was to marry him.

"Mother not him!" Sansa had cried as mother held her tight, drenched the queen's shoulder with her tears. "A second son of some minor lord, a knight perhaps… they might accept a wife like me. Not a prince. Not someone like Jon. He'll scorn me… he'll hate me…"

"He'll do nothing of the sort." Mother had cupped her cheeks and wiped away the tears. "Do you know what he said to me? After we asked this of Jon he said you deserved better. He thinks the world of you Sansa. That's been plain since your dance in the hall. Trust me."

"He's being courteous." She argued. "Or lying… mother what if he's like Joffrey? I thought he was golden and perfect and he ruined me… what would a Targaryen prince want with such a woman?"

"Nothing could ruin you. Nothing my sweet girl. Robb needed a way to bind the Targaryens to us and I saw a way to make you happy. I'm sorry Sansa I thought you would want this. I thought… well it is a good thing Jonarys said he would only accept the betrothal if you agreed."

That had surprised her to hear. It sounded like something a noble hero would do in one of the songs she loved so. Begging a lady's favor rather than taking it. Then she remembered the songs were all lies. The brand on her back was proof of that.

"Oh mother. It was Jon's way of finding a way out of this without offending us." She spoke fearfully. "He'd not want to upset Robb... he'll save his anger for me… just like Joffrey…"

"I don't think so Sansa. I truly don't but I hear you. Do not worry on this a moment more. Robb offered Arya as a bride too. We can seal the alliance by wedding and Jon to your sister."

"Arya?"

Learning this both angered and terrified her. Arya had grown into a lovely young woman and Sansa was often jealous of the bravery her sister had in droves. That jealousy rose up again to imagine Arya with Jon. To picture Arya enjoying the life she wanted to have but Joffrey's cruelty had denied her. The thought of Joffrey mingled with Jon once more, and she worried that perhaps Jon could be some sort of a lie. Jon did not seem evil yet the thought of risking Arya to such a man made her stomach clench.

Her little sister was ignorant to all the cruelty of the world. Yet Arya did her best to shield Sansa from little she knew of it. She had gone after the Karstark for Sansa without a second thought. Sansa was the eldest. She was the burden on the Stark's honor. It wasn't in her to risk Arya because of that.

So Sansa told her mother what she wanted to hear. That she changed her mind. That if someone had to marry Jon it would be her.

Robb was all smiles when he announced the betrothal in the Great Hall. Hundreds cheered and congratulated both Sansa and Jon. Yet when she'd looked to the prince he refused to meet her gaze, an unmistakable look of shame on his face.

 _We're not even wed and already I disappointed him…_

"Sansa?" Arya asked, appearing worried herself. "Are you alright?"

Her sister's eyes were locked on how tightly Sansa gripped her reins, her knuckles white. She feared perhaps the other ladies had seen but Jeyne and Talia were now teasing Beth about the flower Ethan had presented to her the night before.

"I'm fine." She lied, forcing a smile that Arya didn't accept for a moment.

"Don't lie to me. Every time someone talks about you and Jon getting married you look… scared. You want to marry him don't you? I mean he's much better than that arse Eddard Karstark-"

"A princess should not use such language." She chided Arya, trying to hide her fear behind that. "And it is quite normal to be nervous about a wedding. Remember how Uncle Benjen looked before marrying Wynafryd?"

Arya laughed. "He was so pale he looked like the skinniest snowman ever. Jon did get sort of pale when I told him he better treat you right."

"You did what?" She asked and Arya smiled.

"After the announcement. Nymeria and I cornered him near the First Keep. I told him if he doesn't treat you right, even if I like him fine and all, that I'll have Nymeria eat him whole."

"Oh Arya! How could you threaten a Targaryen prince?"

"I didn't threaten him!" Arya argued, growing angry. "I warned him. I was just trying to help. Jon wasn't even mad. He told me he did the same thing once to his uncle Viserys, apparently he's a real shit. Jon doesn't like him near as much as his aunt Daenerys and that's who…"

As Arya went on and on about Jon's life it only served to upset Sansa more.

 _Arya knows more about my future husband than I do… she had the sense to learn about him rather than act a fool…_

There had been so many chances for Sansa to act the girl she'd once been with the prince. He was polite to invite her along with the others on their tours of his encampment. She could've asked about his life, learned of his interests. Truly she knew more of the Dark Order than Jon. He seemed more at ease showing her the drills his men ran through. When the order rode in formations they moved as gracefully as Lady did. With unspoken signals they changed direction, split apart or came together. No man ever rode alone, always with a partner at his side.

"Our strength is our loyalty." Jon had told her. "Our dedication to one another. Without someone at your side, you leave yourself open to attack. Without unity, there is no order. Only chaos and the darkness. It is a horrible thing to be alone then."

He'd turned his grey eyes to her then, likely to make sure she understood and she had. Sansa had told him that was a wonderful way of looking at the world, smiling like a fool the whole time. Jon had merely nodded, staring at her for a while as if he expected more. She'd lost her nerve and stayed silent. Losing yet another chance to inquire into the mysterious prince.

Sansa was cursing herself for that when the direwolves rejoined their party. Grey Wind led his sisters through the trees, making straight towards Robb while Lady and Nymeria sought them out. Lady always made her feel braver and when their trail brought them to a part of the forest sparser in tree cover Sansa would need that courage. That was when Robb and Jon decided to rein up and wait for the ladies to catch up to them.

"Arya!" Robb waved their little sister onward. "Care for a race? You and I, Grey Wind and Nymeria, first one to the end of the trail wins little sister."

"Ha! Not much of a race!" Arya laughed before kicking at her horse, stealing a head start from Robb that he roared at her for. It was not lost on Sansa how Robb winked back at her as they disappeared into the distance.

Leaving Jon with her.

"Who will win?" He asked, watching her siblings ride deeper into the forest. "From what I've seen of both they are spectacular riders. Better than me."

"Arya most likely." She answered before venturing to be a tad bolder. "And you likely sell yourself short my lord. I've seen your men ahorse and have never seen finer riders."

"My men shame me. Your brother bested me in a race the night of our challenges."

"Oh of course… I forgot." Sansa had seen that race and felt a fool now. "You were victorious in your wrestling match though. I was thankful for that."

"As was I." Jon glanced to her. "The dance was… pleasant. I spared your feet a trampling and that is always a good thing."

"Always my lord. We did well together."

She smiled at him, trying to show Jon how sincerely her words were meant. For half a moment Jon looked ready to do the same but his mouth formed into a firm line.

"Since you speak of performing well, I must ask something of you Sansa. It's about us possibly marrying... see I've been speaking with your septon."

"Oh." Sansa tried not to be bothered by Jon's uncertainty whether they would wed or not. "I… I did not know you followed the seven?"

"I don't. At least not yet." Jon looked away from her then. "I was raised in the sect of Vhagar but that will not do for what is to come. It is important I adhere to the rules of the seven from now on. The followers of the Valyrian ways are less _stringent_ when it comes to marriage rites. Apparently the Faith is the not the same… there are expectations of the bride."

"There are." Sansa felt her heart begin to pound. She knew full well what followers of the seven would think of her and her past. "I will try to live up to them. I was raised in the seven as well as the old ways. I can do all that is needed..."

"That's not true." Jon said, lowering his voice so that others would hear. "There's much you cannot do. It shames me to speak on it."

It shamed Sansa too. She knew she could be no proper wife. She was tainted and ruined. In the south girls like her would be given away to the silent sisters. It tore her apart to realize this was how Jon meant to escape their betrothal. By shaming her into changing her mind.

 _How can I stand before a sept and pledge to do my duty to him? I've nothing left to offer._

 _He'll wed Arya instead or call the wedding off altogether. All will know how I failed._

 _Father will go without justice and the fault will be mine…_

"Sansa?" Jon's eyes narrowed on her. His expression darkening.

The panic welled up in her, causing Sansa to tug at her dress and hair some. Her hands were moving on their own, her actions frantic. She felt everyone's eyes on her. Their judgement. Jon's judgement. Her chest became tight. The air was being sucked away by everyone so close to her. The trees were closing in.

"Sansa? Sansa what is it?"

"I can't…" She rasped, grabbing her reins and looking about for an escape. "Let me… I need to go…"

Then she was kicking at her mount, the poor horse whinnying in displeasure. Still, it jerked forward, galloping away from the others and wending its way through the trees. She kicked and snapped the reins. Seeking air. Seeking any escape from the tight hold of panic on her body. The cries from the others were lost in the wind in her ears, the world becoming a blur of trees and shrubs.

She didn't know how long she rode. In woods this thick she could have only crossed a short area but that wasn't her concern. She just needed air and when it finally started to return to her Sansa eased up on her horse. It slowed to a stop in a small clearing, snorting as she clutched at her chest and gasped in deep, desperate breaths.

 _I'm such a fool… this was how it was always going to be. This is what I'm doomed to be._

 _Joffrey did what he did to make me his forever… Sandor died to free me but I'll never really escape._

A snap of a branch caused both Sansa and her horse to start. Robb had made it clear they weren't supposed to ride off alone, not with outlaws prowling the North. Yet it was no broken man coming out of the woods, only Lady following after her. Sansa could practically feel the concern coming off the wolf and climbed down from the saddle to meet her. She took only a few steps before dropping to her knees and wrapping her arms around the wolf's neck. Lady whined and sniffed deeply of her, accepting the embrace and growing still.

"Lady… Lady… don't you ever leave me." She pressed her face into the wolf's fur. "I can stand never knowing love but not being alone… I can't be left alone again… not like after Sandor…"

Lady listened to Sansa spill her fears out for some time, being there like she had been ever since they first found each other. No matter what the realm thought of Sansa this wolf would accept her. It was a small comfort to think on, for no prince ever would. Then Lady scorned her as well, pulling away from Sansa violently. The wolf acted so suddenly she was nearly thrown off balance. She caught herself with one hand to Lady's back as the beast gazed at the arrival of a horse and rider ambling into the clearing.

The prince she'd run from.

"Sansa? Are you alright?" Jon asked, wide-eyed and fearful as he leapt down from his horse and walked towards her.

"I'm fine." She struggled to her feet, smoothing her skirts and hiding her face from his gaze. "I just needed to get away for a moment. To compose myself…"

"That's my fault." Jon grabbed hold of her horse's reins and led it back her way. "I am poor with my words… I meant to ease your burdens, not add to them. Weddings are complicated affairs and there's only so much I can leave to you. The bride has her duties but there are tasks for the groom as well. I should have sought the septon's guidance on those rites…"

"I'm sorry?" She looked at Jon's eyes and found them as sad as ever. Not full of judgement or disgust like she feared. "You were asking me about wedding rites?"

"Yes… I was a poor student during our lessons at Summerhall. I never cared much for the ones on the Andal faith and I didn't want to embarrass you during the wedding…"

 _He didn't want to embarrass me… he wasn't calling off the wedding… he was asking for help…_

She was grappling with this when Jon stood before her, head lowered. He did not raise it even as he handed the reins to Sansa's mount back to her.

"I would not have you suffer my idiocy… my bungling. Not during a wedding. You deserve a fine occasion. It's important that my family be seen as respecting the Faith of the Seven in the south but if you wish to be wed before the heart tree I will find a way to make it so. If you want to change your mind-"

"That's not why I rode off." Sansa reached for her reins, her hand slipping over top of his. A tremble running through her, so powerful she swore his hand did the same. "A wedding before the seven is fine by me Jon. Teaching you about it even better. I should not have ridden off, I'm just a silly girl who misunderstands things-"

"Silly?" Jon's grey eyes looked up with a deep earnestness. "Princess, if I thought you silly I'd never try and explain the Dark Order to you. Few have grasped the truth of our ways as quickly as you. I felt my words clumsy in comparison to yours… I had not looked at the order in that light in a long while. In a hopeful manner."

Sansa was struck by his words and the smile that pulled at Jon's face. Here, in this clearing, they were alone. She should have been terrified. Fearful of the sword strapped to his side and the weapon he hid within his garments. Yet nothing about how he gazed at her or spoke so kindly troubled her. Joffrey's trickery had been born of boasts and sly charm. If Jon was a liar he was a brilliant one.

He could've tried to take advantage of her not yet instead he helped her up into her saddle. His hand lingering on hers. Hers on his. She wanted to believe more than anything he was what she hoped. Yet Lady's growl gave her pause.

The direwolf had backed away from them both, now lowering her head and snarling towards Jon. That was when Jon pulled away from her, his head snapping about, much like Lady's was doing. His hand falling to his sword.

"Jon…" She grew fearful, her hopes betrayed. "Jon what did I do?"

"Sansa, ride off." Jon said before pulling free Dark Sister. "Now."

Rather than pointing the blade at her the prince pointed it to the edge of the clearing. There she saw a number of ragged looking men appearing. More were emerging from the woods all around them with each passing moment. Their clothing was filthy, their beards long and faces dirty, all armed. Swords, spears, mauls, one with a bow. There were eight in all, each one pointing a weapon at Jon and her. A tall one was so bold as to grab at Jon's horse and yank it far from the prince's reach.

"That's her." An older man growled to an uglier one. "That's the Stark daughter. The older one. I seen her from the trees. Knew it was her that rode off."

"Perfect." The ugly one replied, hefting up a cruel looking sword and throwing back his cloak made of some strange hide. He had a broad nose, long dark hair and wormy looking lips. His eyes as pale as milk.

It was him Jon pointed Dark Sister at.

"This is the Princess Sansa Stark. She is under my protection and that of her brother Robb, the King in the North!"

"He's no king of mine." The ugly one laughed. "Nor my father's. We'll see how high and mighty the Starks are when we leave this one's skin drying out in the sun."

"Hold." Jon commanded as Lady snarled and snapped. "If you wish a hostage I am Jon Targaryen, son of the High King. Take me and let the princess ride free from here. If you make to bar her path, you will die. That I promise."

All the outlaws began laughing then, mocking Jon and making lewd gestures to her. Sansa held her reins tightly and tensed when the ugly man swung his blade through the air in threat.

"Brave man. I've flayed a few of the brave ones before. They always end up screaming. I make them scream my name. Ramsay. She'll scream it too when I'm done with her."

"Ramsay Snow?" She put a hand to her mouth. The name was whispered and cursed at Winterfell, for his crimes in the North were legend. "The Bastard of Bolton."

"Bolton?" Jon's tone changed, his eyes darting to their left were only two barred their path. When he spoke again it was only to her, a whisper. "Sansa, when I move you ride. You _ride._ "

"Jon, no."

She looked about for Robb, for Grey Wind. For anyone. Yet she saw no men save only those who meant her harm.

"Please Sansa, stay." Ramsay smiled cruelly. "I'll teach you to style me proper. After everything is said and every hole used-"

"Sansa ride!" Jon roared, rushing at the two men between her and the woods.

One held a spear, the other a maul. Before she snapped her reins the man wielding the maul had fallen, Dark Sister swinging blood through the air as Jon defended against a spear thrust. The others charged forward and Lady leapt up to attack a swordsman, allowing Sansa's horse to run off. An arrow flew by her as Jon held back the spearman, the prince meeting her gaze as she rode by.

His sad eyes now full of fear as well.

Terror coursed through her. Much of it was for herself and what these men would do to her if she stayed. There was more than enough fear left for Jon and Lady as she watched the five Bolton men close in on them both. A spearman jabbed at Lady, driving her back while the other four attacked Jon. He met the cuts of blades and other swipes with a grace akin to the finest of dancers. Yet he had far too many partners.

Far too many.

Just like it had been for Sandor. When he rode to protect her from Joffrey's men and paid for it with his life. When she had let him die for her. His love for her had earned him a poorly dug grave and nothing more. Now she left Jon to much the same.

 _Not again… not again… I won't bury another..._

 _I won't let him die._

She pulled at the reins, jerking her horse about as Jon shouted in pain. The archer had loosed again and an arrow was buried in his side. He struck out and threw away more strikes from his foes but Ramsay was moving about. Trying to get at his back.

"No." She rasped, finally getting the horse to face the fray. Kicking at its side with all her might. "Please. Please!"

The horse charged forward. Sansa's heart beating just as powerfully as its hooves. Jon had been driven to a knee, still laying about with Dark Sister and holding his attackers at bay. All save Ramsay. The Bastard drew up behind Jon. Raising his sword high.

Only to curse at the sight of Sansa charging towards him.

At the last moment he cut at her horse but it was too late. Her mount screamed, Sansa screamed, but so did Ramsay. The horse rode right over the Bastard, the man falling beneath its hooves before the poor animal stumbled from its own wounds. Sansa was flying then. Thrown from her saddle and moving through the air like a bird.

 _A little bird._

Then she hit the ground. The impact drove the air from her lungs. It set her side to screaming and her mind to reeling. She rolled across the earth, which was damp and hard. The pain racking her body nearly bid her to slip into a creeping blackness yet she held on. Sansa fought against it. Jon's voice guiding her way.

"Sansa!" She heard him shout. "Sansa!"

The world was hazy but things came together. Her horse on the ground, Ramsay crushed beneath it. The fiend rasping and grunting as he died. Lady was killing another of his men, her jaws wrenching free an arm. Then there was Jon. Still alive, still fighting.

He was fighting three now. His face was red. Everything about him was red. She remembered the Dark Order and how they rode. Jon moved liked them. His skill and speed defying sense. Still his enemy came. Still he shouted for her.

She thought it was her mind failing her when a large white blur burst from the trees into the fight. A Bolton man screamed as the white beast pulled him down. The wolf's massive jaws tore through his flesh, crushed the bones in his arm. Lady's albino brother would be this man's death.

That still left two for Jon to face. Two men fighting hard to kill him.

She needed to go to him so Sansa set to crawling on her hands and knees. Anther body hit the ground soon after, the dark prince having gutted him. The last Bolton fiend was pressing him, fighting like a savage. He was hale and strong while Jon was hurt and slowing. An arrow jutted out of his side. Other hurts bled on his face and body.

"Jon!" She choked out, crawling his way. "Not you!"

He didn't hear her, for that was when his foe pinned Jon's sword to the ground. Jon didn't fight for his blade then, instead grabbing at the arrow in his side. With a shout he wrenched the arrow free, his blood spraying across the ground. He then drove the bloody arrow tip right up and into his foe's neck.

The man was still gurgling when the white wolf took out his legs and made to tear him to shreds. Lady was standing over Sansa now, whining and licking at her face.

Yet still she crawled to Jon, who was staggering her way.

"Sansa…" He rasped, blood steaming down his face and from his mouth. "Sansa… speak to me… please be alright…"

"Jon." She reached up to him.

Jon was covered in gore. His blade slick with blood. His face and black garb stained with red.

She remembered how Joffrey had draped himself in gold and satin. Nothing was too extravagant to prove himself royalty.

Yet as Jon came to her, filthy and weakened, she found a man far more worthy of the title of prince.

Sansa saw her prince.

 **JON**

 _I look horrible… Vhagar see me through this…_

Jon scowled down at the finery he was wearing. He'd been struggling here in his pavilion with his clothing for far too long. The doublet was as black as ebony, its buttons and fastenings made of silver. The shirt beneath a dark grey with white frill about the sleeves and collar. They felt itchy against his wrists and worse around his neck. The collar was too tight and Jon grunted as he pulled at.

The sound was born from annoyance and pain, his hurts from the ambush not fully healed yet. Beyond the cuts and bruises it was the arrow wound that pained him the most. His side was stitched and bandaged, courtesy of the order's chief healer and Maester Luwin. Both men had chided Jon for tearing the arrow free in the manner he had. He'd taken that in stride yet shouted in pain when boiling wine was poured into the gash.

That agony and the hurts he bore now were all worth it. Sansa had been spared whatever suffering the Boltons had planned for her. When Ramsay Snow threatened Sansa it hadn't mattered how outnumbered he was. Nor that he'd lost his horse or lacked any armor. Sansa would get away, even if it meant his life.

So he had become death. Men of the Dark Order were taught to fight as if the odds would always be against them, for they nearly always were. He had lacked armor but that made him light, agile, Dark Sister alive in his hands. The Valyrian steel cut through flesh but it was Jon doing the killing. He hadn't thought twice about tearing the arrow out to finish the last kill. That was how badly he wanted the bastard dead. Had Jon not felt so weak he might have smiled to see the light fade from the man's eyes.

Sansa's eyes had been far brighter. Those blue eyes were as lovely as could be. Which made it all the worse to see himself reflected in them. A bloody, gore covered monster.

He'd feared such a moment since Robb declared Sansa had accepted the betrothal. That one day she might see what he truly was. Jon just hadn't expected it to come so soon.

 _That seems to be the way of things here in the Sunset Kingdoms. Nothing has gone as I planned._

 _Father chose the wrong man to carve out our place here… the Starks were wrong to give Sansa to me…_

The Starks credited Jon with saving Sansa's life but that was a lie. Sansa had saved his in truth. Her riding back for him was one of the bravest acts he'd ever witnessed and had almost cost Sansa her life. There was not a doubt in his mind they both would have died there if not for the arrival of their true savior.

When Jon turned to look at his bedding he found a large white beast with bright red eyes staring back at him.

"Well then, how do I look?" He asked, holding out his arms and displaying himself to the direwolf. "You insisted on staying to watch me dress. Let's hear your thoughts."

The direwolf cocked its head in silent response, as silent as ever. This was the sixth direwolf born of the same litter as the others. The one without a Stark.

"The runt." Robb had told him. "An albino mute and a standoffish one at that. It causes no harm since he is rarely seen. A ghost really."

Ghost. That's what Jon had taken to calling the direwolf that had saved them. The wolf refused to leave his side after the ambush. Ghost was present while the healers tended to him, something Sansa had tried to do as well until Jon sent her away. She'd taken a hard fall and he commanded the maester to see to her care. Truly he couldn't bare her to see any more blood that day.

He wanted better for her.

Jon was still fussing over his clothes when Gendry and Asher entered his tent. Both stopped midstride and gaped at him.

"Fuck me." Asher smiled, looking Jon up and down. "Look at all that lace."

Gendry laughed. "I'm offended brother, is the dark mail no longer good enough for you?"

"Shut it." He growled. "This is how Westerosi highborn dress for such occasions. I wanted to wear my armor but my bride told me that is not proper. I need to learn the ways of these people. It's their customs I should be respecting."

"Well, with all due respect commander." Asher smirked. "I've never seen you looking prettier."

While Gendry and Asher shared a laugh Jon scowled again. Neither of the two men wore armor either but were still dressed in the tunics of the Dark Order. He was about to ask them on the state of the others when Gendry opened up the flap and waved someone within. The High Queen walked inside then, carrying a dark cloak in her hands. Mother wore a black and crimson gown, which dragged behind her as she walked. Her dark hair was bound in a large braid that hung over her shoulder, bound in a silver ribbon, yet he saw no crown upon her head.

Mother caught him looking and touched at her hair.

"I saw no need for my crown this evening." She smiled some. "Tonight I wish only to be a daughter of House Stark, not a High Queen. A proud mother more than anything else."

"Then look to Gendry." Jon fidgeted with his collar again. "Blasted thing…"

"Here." Mother handed the cloak off to Gendry, then moving to sort out Jon's garb. "I wish there'd been enough time to do this right. The Winterfell seamstress did well but I thought you looked quite handsome at court-"

"We're not at court." He replied. "The styles favored at Summerhall aren't known here. I won't look more an outsider than I already am."

Mother laughed. "Gods, where does all that stubbornness come from I wonder?"

Despite his hurts and the comfortableness of his clothing, mother's words lifted his spirits some. There had been tenseness between them since the godswood yet if mother still held any opposition to his marrying Sansa she held her tongue. She'd actually done the princess a kindness the day of the ambush, for it had been mother to embrace Sansa and lead her away from his tent.

"I had thought to find you at the castle." He said. "Is something amiss?"

"Nothing Jon. Not if you're happy." Mother stroked his cheek before inclining her head back at Asher and Gendry. "I only assumed with your men busy readying for the march south you'd be in need of someone to attend you."

"We're better at fighting than finery." Gendry nodded. "Even if there wasn't a war on, Jon would be poorly served by us in this."

Somehow the talk of the coming war made him feel less nervous. Only days after the ambush ravens had arrived from Riverrun. Word had reached the Tullys that the Lannisters were amassing an army at Casterly Rock and the Durrandons were readying their forces north of the Blackwater. The enemies of the Starks had decided the time was right to act. Robb and Jon had been of the same mind on how to respond.

The army of the North would march south and the Dark Order would ride at their side. If good fortune was with them Robb hoped to arrive in the riverlands in time to join their strength with that of his southron vassals. Things were now moving at a rapid pace, his time here at Winterfell coming to an end.

His imminent departure meant it was time for Jon to prove his dedication to the alliance. His marriage to Sansa was no longer some misguided idea. The Starks wanted Jon and Sansa to wed before he left for the south. Thus the last few days had been spent not only preparing for war, but for a wedding.

Only one of which caused his palms to sweat.

He was rubbing his hands against the sides of his breeches when Mother released his collar, beaming to stand back and gesture to him.

"There! There's my handsome prince!" She put a hand to her chest then. "Mine for only a short time longer, my boy. I've dreaded this day as much as I longed to see it come. To see you married. To lose you to another."

"Speaking of." Asher broke in. "Sansa Stark is waiting. The Starks wanted us to be at the castle before sunset. We should be going."

"Not quite yet."

Mother took the cloak back from Gendry. Unfurling it so all could see it was an entirely new garment. Most of it was made from black suede the order used for the cloaks of its outriders. Jon had worn such a cloak during many a harsh campaign yet never seen one this handsome. White fur draped about the shoulders and around the neck, more of it lining the edges. It was a fine contrast to the dark cloak and complimented the white three-headed dragon sewn across the back, his personal sigil. When the High Queen held the cloak out for him to touch he marveled at soft it felt within, discovering only then it was lined with black silk on the inside. That earned a questioning look to his mother which she shrugged at.

"I gave my silk gown over to maker." Mother said. "Strong, warm, and gentle, I figured Sansa's cloak should match the man I've giving over to her."

"Thank you mother." He bent down to kiss her brow. "I love you."

"I love you too son." She leaned into his shoulder, taking a firm hold of his arm. "Now go and fetch me a gooddaughter."

Before they departed Jon entrusted Gendry to carry Dark Sister on his behalf. He felt naked without a sword on his hip but he terrified Sansa enough already. Gendry accepted the sword with grace, declaring himself to be honored.

Jon felt much the same when they left his tent to find a collection of mounted men and waiting to escort him to the castle. Ethan and Tum stood out in the white cloaks of the Highguard and Jon counted Balaq, Greenbeard, Thoros, and the Blackfish among the order men. Beyond the riders stood the rest of the Dark Order. His men stood at attention in two long likes, guiding the way from his tent to the gates of Winterfell. It touched him to see such a thing. This wedding was not popular among the men, apparently most wanted or believed Jon should continue on as their leader. He'd made it clear though this marriage benefited the empire more than his continued leadership of the order ever could.

Some of those arrayed before him likely disagreed with that yet they honored him all the same. Brynden rode forward, leading Jon's horse to him with a weathered smile. Greenbeard held the black standard of the Dark Order, Thoros the red dragon banner of the Targaryen Empire. It fell to Asher to carry Jon's own banner and it was then a light snow began to fall.

"A summer snow." His mother's words came out as a white mist. "During a wedding no less."

"A bad omen?" He asked and Asher chuckled.

"A good one. A couple who marries in the snow can withstand anything, even winter."

They were off after that, Ghost leading the party on their slow ride up to the gates. He tried to focus on the size and grace of the direwolf to settle his nerves. Jon had ridden into battle countless times and faced foes terrible enough to haunt his dreams, yet he'd never felt as scared as he did right now.

 _It's not my life I'm set to ruin here… I can lead men, I can wage war, I can kill…_

 _What's all that to caring for a wife? How can I be what Sansa needs? I don't even know what I need._

The sun was setting when they were welcomed within the castle by a troupe of Stark guardsmen. After dismounting Ser Rodrik led them on to the yard outside the Great Hall, which had been completely transformed.

Winterfell's sept was too small for a wedding of this size so Robb arranged for it to take place in the shadow of the septry. A wide awning now stood outside the sept's entrance, its beams adorned with bands of heather, thistle, and countless wildflowers. Septon Chayle stood below it, between the statues of the Mother and Father which both had bouquets of blue winter roses at their feet.

The decorations did not lack for admirers as the Stark bannermen packed the yard. A diverse collection of northern nobility stood to either side of the path Jon and his mother were walking along. Many he knew only by their family names, the Hornwoods, Cerwyns, Glovers, Flints, and so on. Yet here and there he found some he did to recognize. Maege Mormont and her daughters smiling as they passed, Rodrik Forrester and his wife did much the same but Jon found it quite unsettling when The Greatjon offered a wide grin of his own. That rarely happened without a bout of loud laughter to follow yet this time the Umber lord remained silent.

All were silent actually, the only talk to be heard were the greetings passing between Jon's men and the northerners as they took their place among the audience. The Starks stood to one side of the newly built altar. Queen Catelyn looking regal in a gown of blue. Her long hair moved slightly in the breeze and he noticed, just like mother, Catelyn had no crown upon her brow either. Uncle Benjen stood to her side, dressed as finely as the young Stark boys near them. Bran and Rickon smiled widely at the sight of Jon, though Rickon made a face when he pointed at the lace at Jon's sleeves. Arya smirked at that as well, the lithe young woman wore a grey gown which none could call drab. Not on a girl with as much bearing as Arya, who was so bold as to wink at him.

 _A wink today, a threat before that, I should fear this girl as much as I like her._

 _The Starks surely do raise women of note._

His mother did not go to stand with her kin, instead moving to stand to Jon's side of the altar. Ethan joined her there, Gendry and the Blackfish as well. Rickon giggled when Ghost pushed his way between Gendry and Ethan. Allowing the direwolf to act as part of his wedding party was likely not proper but it felt right somehow.

Anything that gave him strength was welcome right now. With the others standing apart from him Jon now waited with the septon at the altar. Everyone was looking his way and he instinctively reached for the assurance of a sword at his side. There was none there of course and he cursed himself for forgetting that. Then he began to worry on what else he might forget. Sansa had tried to do as he'd asked her, teaching him the rites of this marriage, yet between his healing and preparing for war their time together had been short. The Blackfish had done his best but practicing for the ceremony with the old knight acting as Jon's bride was unpleasant for both of them.

 _It'll be far more unpleasant if you bungle this. Remember everything Brynden told you._

 _Prayers first. The septon will lead you through. Then they tie your hands… wait…_

His worry was so great that he nearly missed the arrival of the bride herself.

Excited chatter rippled through the guests and drew his eyes back the way he'd come. The last light of day was leaving them and lanterns were now raised by guardsmen to ward off the night. Through the shadows and falling snow came the bride. Robb held her arm, Lady followed at her side but Jon barely noticed any of that.

His eyes were locked on Sansa. His bride. The most beautiful woman he'd seen in all his years.

They'd drawn her hair up into a style like a braided crown, a tight bun of auburn grandeur. That left Sansa's face free to be admired, his eyes drawn to her high cheeks, rose colored from the cold and standing out against pale, pristine skin. Her eyes were lowered and Jon's gaze did much the same, taking in loveliness of Sansa's bridal gown. She wore a grey cloak on her shoulders and beneath it her gown was as white as polished ivory. Gold trim hemmed her neckline, offering only the briefest hint to the top of her bust. Around her waist hung a belt with white satin and golden embroidery.

He was still in awe of all this when Sansa raised her gaze so their eyes met. Hers were wide and bright, like winter roses in a field of snow.

Snow drifted down upon her as Robb brought her onward out of the night. It felt wrong that Sansa would be surrounded by shadows. Her radiance belonged somewhere far brighter, like a field of flowers on a summer's day. Surely not here amidst the snows.

Someplace better than at his side. Surely all had to see that.

There was no end to people admiring Sansa's beauty. Jeyne Poole clutched at her chest while Beth Cassel stared in awe. The Greatjon's eyes were practically bulging out if his head and Thoros made a silent signal to the red god. He caught Harrion Karstark grinning to whisper something into his brother Eddard's ear, nudging the man and causing his face to grow red with anger.

Jon didn't care for that yet if any others noticed they ignored it. Robb was too focused on delivering Sansa to her place at the altar. With a kiss to Sansa's cheek and a nod to Jon, the King in the North made to join the other Starks. Sansa then faced the septon so Jon did the same, finding it strange to have to look upon an old man with a beauty like Sansa so near.

Septon Chayle cleared his throat. "Here, before the Mother and the Father, under the eyes of the seven and you good people, a union is to be forged. Who is this man?"

"He is Jonarys Targaryen." Mother answered, her voice loud yet gentle. "Son to High King Rhaegar, Lord Commander of the Dark Order, a dragon of the empire… and my son."

"And who is this woman?"

"She is Sansa Stark." Robb declared, chin held high. "Daughter to King Eddard and Queen Catelyn. A princess of the North. A wolf of Winterfell. My sister… whom I love so."

 _Then take her away from here,_ Jon willed, _give her to a good man, a kind man._

Robb did no such thing as Septon Chayle led those of faith in a prayer. Few besides Sansa and the rest of the queen's children were able to join. The northmen held to their Old Gods firmly yet it was not the North the High King was intent on claiming. His father had commanded Jon to do all he could to win the favor of those who followed the Andal beliefs. If the faithful of the south saw the Targaryens respecting their gods father hoped they'd accept imperial rule all the easier.

Jon had agreed at the time but he hadn't expected to be married in such a fashion. He was quiet during the prayers, ignorant to them truly, and thus stood like a statue as Sansa spoke for both of them. A stolen glance showed Sansa looking to the sky above, her words coming out as mist between her pink lips, melting the snow that fell. Some was collecting about her shoulders and Jon had to stop himself from brushing it away.

He had no right to touch her yet. Not that it would matter when he did. Whatever vows Sansa swore here this night Jon swore his own. None of which could let him harm the princess to his side. She'd been through too much already.

"Jonarys-"

"Jon." He corrected the septon without thinking, his mind elsewhere as he gazed upon his bride. Sansa caught his gaze and blushed while Arya and Bran's snickers caused Jon to redden as well.

The septon was less amused. "Jon then, you and Sansa must now be bound together. As you will be in life."

"Oh."

Jon thought to apologize when he felt a warm touch against his fingers. Sansa's hand brushed against his, her own fingers wrapping around his. He realized then she was leading them into the next part of the rites. She gently bid Jon to face her, taking both his hands in hers and he feared his were shaking like a green boy's before battle. Their eyes met again and the uncertainty he saw in Sansa's made him ashamed, for she likely feared he would bungle this. He offered the smallest of nods and a squeeze of Sansa's hands, in hopes of reassuring her.

For half a moment he thought Sansa would smile but the septon ruined it all by tying a ribbon about their hands. Jon didn't like that. It felt wrong to see Sansa bound in any way. His objection was forgotten as the septon began to speak the vows.

"Before the eyes of the seven, I hereby seal these two souls. Binding them together, for eternity. Look upon one another and say these words. Father."

"Father." His voice mingled with Sansa's as they began to recite the vows of the seven. Their vows to each other.

"Mother… Smith… Warrior…" They spoke as one. "Maiden… Crone… Stranger."

He knew the next part well, the vows which filled him with a desperate hope. A terrible fear.

"I am hers, she is mine." Jon declared, shocked at how good it felt to say. Snow was melting upon Sansa's red cheeks when she replied.

"I am his. He is mine."

His heart beat faster to hear Sansa say so. To feel her touch. To watch how she bit at her lips as the septon declared them wed. Jon numbly watched as the man untied them yet made no move to take his hands away from hers. The septon was saying something but the pounding of his heart was too loud. A horror crept up in him when Jon realized another rite was expected and he had nod idea what it was.

Sansa rescued him then, just like she had in the Wolfswood. Her eyes moved to his cloak and then to her own as she turned away from him. Robb stepped forward to take hold of the direwolf cloak Sansa wore, unfastening it and lifting away. Jon's mother came beside him, pushing the bridal cloak into his hands before wiping tears away from her eyes. He wanted to comfort her but he was no longer a child and his duties were now to his wife.

"With this cloak I do seal my vow." He laid the cloak around Sansa's shoulders, fastening it as tenderly as his hands could. "I take you under my protection Sansa Stark. From this day until our last day."

Sansa did not have to speak a word in response yet when she turned her hands sought his arm. Her body trembling, from the cold he hoped.

With the rites done the couple faced their families and guests, who erupted in applause and cheers. Robb was in a duel with the Greatjon for who could shout the loudest. Much like Jon's mother, Queen Catelyn was weeping openly, gazing at Sansa with pride. Jon did a double take at Arya, for her eyes appeared misty as well. Yet when the princess caught him looking she rolled her eyes and crossed her arms.

Lady took to howling then, a sound matched by her siblings gathered at the far end of the yard. Their howls echoed off the castle walls as Robb announced a feast in the Great Hall in honor of Jon and Sansa.

"Good food and better wine! Full bellies and hazy minds!" Robb shouted to the joy of all. "Let us celebrate this marriage like it deserves! May it grant my sister and cousin a happy marriage! And us good fortune in the war to come! To victory!"

"To victory!" The northmen echoed the call and Sansa's hold on his arm tensed.

In the joy of the last few moments Jon had forgotten what the future had in store. He'd let himself get caught up in wedding the North's greatest beauty. Sansa was his wife but war was his calling. Soon it would beckoning him again, tearing him away from Sansa's grasp. She looked up to him fearfully and he wondered if she was recalling what he'd done in the Wolfswood. If Sansa too had become so lost in the ceremony that she had forgotten the kind of man she married.

One far too good at killing. A man ignorant of how to make her happy.

And Jon wanted to do that more than anything.

To make Sansa happy.

 **SANSA**

"If it please you my lord."

Sansa looked to Jon to seek his permission. He was seated to her side here at the high table and appeared surprised by the question. As was Robb, who stood with his arm offered for a dance. The celebration underway was loud, Aunt Lyanna's minstrel playing a lively tune. Sansa looked forward to a dance with her brother yet knew the proper thing to do was ask the prince his mind.

 _No, not just the prince… my husband now…_

 _I am a woman wed. I am his and he is mine._

"Of course Sansa." Jon answered, rising to help her stand. "Whatever will make you happy."

"No worries on that!" Robb chuckled. "I know my little sister, I'll have her spun about so many times she'll be smiling half of the night. The rest of the night falls to you Jon."

"Robb!" She gasped, the sound of it lost over Robb's laughter as he took hold of her hand and led her from the dais.

King or not she meant to scold Robb for his vulgar humor but her attempts were drowned out by the voices of others. Guests called out praise for her gown and congratulations for her marriage. Sansa still couldn't quite believe it. This morning she had woken up Sansa Stark, the stain on the honor of Winterfell. Now she was a part of the Targaryen imperial family. Four months ago she had never given one thought to her distant cousin. Now Jon was her husband.

 _If someone had told me of all this I would've named them a liar. That such tales belonged in songs and the songs are lies._

Yet as Robb began to spin her about in a dance her eyes went to high table. Where her husband sat, as real as could be. Jon sipped of wine and watched their dancing with a far off expression. That inspired her to put an extra bounce to her steps and to twirl her skirts about a tad more than usual. If she was to be wed to a fine man she'd look worthy of one.

"Are you trying to outdo me?" Robb asked, eyebrow raised as he did his best to keep up. "Marriage agrees with you Sansa. I doubt the realm has seen a more beautiful bride."

"Thank you Robb." She said before pinching at his arm, causing him to flinch. "And that is for jesting of what is to come. You call me beautiful but that is because I wear a gown my friends worked hard upon. There was nothing they could do for my scars though. Jon will surely turn away from me when he sees them."

Robb shook his head. "That man who stood tall against eight foes for you Sansa. He did not abandon you then, I can't see him turning his back on you for some scars. Did you not see him nearly faint at the sight of you?"

"He did not."

Robb's words did cause her to remember how dashing Jon had looked waiting for her at the altar. His garb could not have been finer, the way the snow caught in his long dark hair gave the prince a cold elegance that made her chest flutter.

Her mind always went back to how he fought for her. How he had suffered such great hurts yet made to protect her nonetheless. Sansa had let herself believe Jon might truly care for her then. Yet after the fight he'd sent her away, refusing to have her around while he lay wounded. She'd thought for certain Jon blamed her for his hurts, a belief the High Queen dissuaded her of.

"Child, dear niece. Hush." Aunt Lyanna had cradled Sansa against her as Jon's cries of pain followed them on their journey back to the castle. "Jon holds no ill will against you, it is in his blood to act recklessly for the ones he cares for."

"He does not care for me. Only the alliance… if I died under his care it would destroy all the arrangements-"

"Nonsense." Lyanna had gripped her chin and forced their eyes to meet. "I spoke against your betrothal for the foulest of reasons. I must beg forgiveness for that and owe you a great debt. You must know Jon would not hear me and not for loyalty to any alliance. It was me speaking against you that stoked his ire."

Sansa hadn't believed her and Lyanna knew it without her speaking a word. The queen would not leave it be, drawing her close enough so the maester could not hear.

"You and I, we've known suffering." Lyanna's grey eyes darkened at some distant memory. "They branded you. Beat you. Well they whipped me. Did worse. They tried to ruin us. Rhaegar never accepted my views on that. He believed in who I was long before I could. There are good men in this world Sansa Stark. My son is one of them. Give him leave to show you that."

Once Cersei Lannister proclaimed the same of Joffrey. The wicked woman knew of Joffrey's cruel treatment of her and berated Sansa for earning his tortures. Always looking down at her when the tears would come. Lyanna was different. She met Sansa's gaze, held her close and spoke of pain few could ever know. There was no falsehood in the High Queen. No judgement. Only understanding.

During the wedding, when Jon's hands had trembled in hers Sansa feared he would pull away from her. Denouncing the whole wedding and her as a bride. When her chest had grown tight and the panic threatened to return, it was Lyanna's words that echoed through her head. Of Jon being a good man. Instead of turning from her Jon had offered a nod. He gripped Sansa's hands tighter and did not let go again until it was time to put his cloak around her shoulders. That cloak had been softer within than she expected, warmer as well. Strong enough to hold back the cold and make her feel safe. It fit well.

Jon's touch had felt the same. While Robb was a fine partner Sansa wished it was her husband dancing with her now. He had left his seat at the table and was now speaking with a number of northmen. Rodrik Forrester shook his hand while Halys Hornwood waited his turn to do the same. What gave Sansa pause was the drunken form of Eddard Karstark, who said something that gave his brother Harrion and Jon a reason to look displeased. Harrion added something with a nod to Jon before forcefully pushing his brother back towards their table.

"What's all this?" Robb asked and she thought for sure he'd seen this display as well.

Instead she found her brother staring at another couple making to dance. Namely Arya and Gendry, the poor sergeant being dragged across the floor to the hoots of his comrades. Arya had to put Gendry's hands on her hips and press them till they stayed. The sergeant's cheeks burned as laughter rang throughout the hall.

"Well, there's a man I need to bloody." Robb sighed and she smacked his arm.

"You'll do no such thing. Leave them be. How often is it that Arya invites a man to dance? It's a rare thing during a rare occasion."

"Perhaps just a bruising then?" Her brother inquired, earning another smack. "Ow! Fine, fine. The wife of my ally is a demanding sort. I'll have to accept being the kind of king to stand to the side and glower at his sisters' suitors then. Or to suffer watching them dance with their husbands."

Robb grinned and stepped away from her, for Jon now joined them with a bow.

"Your grace, I would beg a dance with the princess." Jon asked politely and Robb touched Sansa's arm lovingly.

"You two have a whole lifetime of dances laying ahead and look how impatient he is to start. Well I'll not stand in the way of that. Treat her kindly Jon." Robb made to leave them but before he could Jon leaned in to whisper something to him. Whatever it was made Robb stiffen and eyes narrow. "I was clear on that matter. All were told. It's not something to worry on Jon, please, enjoy the evening."

Robb departed but his stern words aroused her curiosity.

"Was that about the alliance?" She asked and Jon frowned, clearly displeased to answer.

"No, not at all. A drunk man asked me how long until our bedding took place. A Karstark, saying something about proving your beauty to all. I did not know what a bedding was and did not take his meaning."

Sansa's blood ran cold. A bedding was her worst nightmare. Strange men grabbing and pawing at her, baring her flesh and scars to all, it would be like Storm's End all over again. Mother had refused to hear of one and Robb had sworn no bedding would occur. She did not have to guess at which Karstark thought to suggest such a thing to Jon. A petty vengeance on Eddard's behalf, for what Arya did to him or because of the mocking he received during the ceremony. Talia had overheard Harrion calling Eddard a fool for missing out on a bride like Sansa.

 _A vengeful fool. A drunken vengeful fool. He wishes a bedding to display my ruin to all._

 _To embarrass me… to embarrass Jon…_

She was wringing her hands nervously at the thought when Jon took one in his, concern etched across his face.

"This bedding, it displeases you?"

"It's a custom." She hesitated to say. "One I asked Robb to forgo… it involves-"

"That's all I need to hear. If you do not wish it, then it will not be done. I only worried I'd shown myself ignorant of another of your customs. I must make amends for my bungling at the wedding, I pray this helps."

The prince then gave a silent signal and the minstrel took up a new song all at once. It took only a moment for Sansa to recognize it and she smiled.

"Jenai of the Sorrows." She said. "You asked for this?"

"No, you did. This was the song you chose after my match with Robb. I worried it was a poor choice for a wedding-"

"No it's perfect." She spoke truly, heartened Jon had deigned to remember such a thing. A small grin appeared on his face. A handsome one. Then she welcomed his hand upon her waist. For it fit well. Their dance began as such, the slower tune lending to a more leisurely form of dancing.

"This minstrel plays wonderfully." Sansa sighed. "People call this a sad song yet there's a great romance to it. Jenai and her Prince of Dragonflies… a prince who gave away an empire for love. For a woman with flowers in her hair."

"Truthfully I used to mock it." Jon admitted. "Aegon and I both, when we were boys. We'd laugh about an heir doing something like that for a woman."

"It's important for Targaryens to choose the right wife." She said, feeling her spirits drop for she was surely the wrong type. Yet Jon shook his head, his dark hair falling some over his eye.

"To me it's better to make the right choices. What's best for the empire is not always what's right. It's taken me a long time to learn that… and I'm finally on the cusp of righting many wrongs. On making the right choices. I hope so at least."

His solemnness was returning so she reached up to brush the hair from Jon's face, letting her fingers trace along his skin. The feeling it gave was a warm one, a welcome one.

"I pray I am a right choice." The words came out as if another spoke them. "I'll do all I can to be one. The empire's ways are different but-"

A bellow from the Greatjon cut off the rest of her words, the Umber lord stood near the Dark Order's table and was urging them all to drink.

"Empty those cups!" The Greatjon lifted a tankard high. "Order men! Northmen! All of you! We drink as one before we fight as one! Let's liven up those Dark Order cloaks with some lion's pelts!"

The men of the hall shouted in agreement, drowning out the music and bringing the war back to Sansa's mind. When it was mentioned at the wedding it felt horrible to think she was being wed only to bid farewell to her husband. The south was a place of great terror and hurt for Sansa but a part of her was jealous of Queen Lyanna. Her aunt would be joining the march south. Riding with Robb and Jon. Watching over them. Caring for them.

"To the Starks!" Uncle Brynden shouted, lifting his cup high and hundreds of men did the same.

"To the Targaryens!" Uncle Benjen added.

Men were shouting and drinking, boasting and spilling, it was all becoming very raucous and Sansa feared for her dress. She sought a less crowded spot for Jon to lead her when she spotted him. Eddard Karstark was swaying her way, his goblet spilling over as he stumbled through other guests. To others it looked like he was merely joining in the toasts. Yet Sansa saw something in his eyes. Drunk as he was, the man was intent on something. They had a cruel look to them, much like Joffrey's before some horrid act.

When someone called for a toast to Robb she watched in horror as Eddard lifted his cup. She thought of her dress then, the gown she looked so pretty in. The one that hid her ruin. Eddard nudged Rodrik Forrester for an excuse to let the dark wine spill downwards. Sure to ruin her dress.

It never had the chance. While she watched all of this numbly Jon spun her about, the wine splashing down upon him instead. His face and much of his chest were drenched in it, many in the hall growing silent or gasping like Sansa did. The Dark Order men rose swiftly from their seats, their eyes all on Eddard, who stood gaping at the prince.

"My apologies." Eddard grumbled and bowed poorly. "I've been told I'm the clumsy sort. My father tells me I _must_ apologize for that."

"No, not for that." Jon's tone was cold, his stance a threatening one as he gently urged Sansa back. "You must apologize to the princess. My wife."

"What for?" Eddard challenged. "It was an accident and her gown is fine. Not a mark on that dress."

"Apologize for what you meant to do. Else I will hold you to account. My blade came with me to this castle and if you press me, it will leave bloodied."

"Jon I don't-" She wanted to stop this before it went too far but Arya came to hold her back, her face full of silent fury.

Jon's expression betrayed nothing. Wine ran down his face in dark red lines akin to blood. It dripped onto the floor yet the prince's gaze never left Eddard. The other Karstarks were near but their eyes were on the middle son as well, awaiting his response. Robb was not so patient when he arrived.

"Why must Sansa be apologized to?" Robb inquired, rounding on Eddard. "If offense was given to _my sister_ on her wedding I will see to it that you-"

"Eddard will apologize." She interceded, drawing all eyes to her save for Jon and Eddard, who still glared at each other. "He will do so and I will accept for he has had too much wine. Too much drink in celebration of my wedding. He will give an apology and I will wish him well the rest of the evening. We can part ways honorably for mistakes are made, are they not Eddard?"

Eddard's eyes faltered and moved to her then. He was drunk but he was also backed into a corner. One she was desperately trying to see him out of. Jon need not have this man's blood on his hands and she saw not point in Robb losing the Karstarks over such foolishness. More than that, she wished to tend to Jon, who had moved far too quickly for a man with his wounds.

With a deep swallow, Eddard bowed his head to her.

"Mistakes are made. I am drunk and that made me... well my fight is in the south, not here. I apologize Princess Sansa. On my honor as a northman, I apologize."

"I accept." She said before reaching to Jon, who remained tense. "Jon… husband. This is at an end. It would make me happy to put this behind us."

"It would?" Jon looked to her and she nodded.

He considered that a moment before she felt the tenseness leave his body and he turned his back to Eddard. No words passed between the two men, Eddard returning to his kin and Jon seeking out a cloth for his face. The mood had darkened some in the hall but she cared less for that than the state of the prince. His clothing was soaked with wine and he would surely need to leave to change. When Sansa said so Robb began to laugh.

"Get that minstrel back to playing!" He commanded, waving his arm about to address all. "We need a lively tune! The bride and groom are about to retire to their marriage bed!"

She made to argue but the guests were already clapping and hooting at the idea. The Greatjon shouted something about Jon not being the first man to seek his wife covered in wine. Asher and Uncle Brynden took to patting Jon on the back while Jeyne and Beth ran forth to grab Sansa. There was to be no bedding but before Sansa could catch a breath her ladies were leading her from the hall while men flocked about Jon, shouting bawdy jests. The minstrel began to play _Oh, Lay My Sweet Lass Down In the Grass_ and the last sight she caught of Jon was Aunt Lyanna speaking into his ear.

Robb had arranged chambers for the couple's use in the Great Keep and that was where Sansa's ladies led her. Jeyne and Beth were all giggles while Talia sang a sweet song to guide their way. Arya fumed about Eddard but Sansa had bigger worries. This was the part of the night she dreaded.

 _Jon was kind to me with this gown on but when he learns the truth of me that'll change._

 _I'm a scarred, branded girl with no maiden's gift to offer him._

 _His kindness will turn to disdain… his tenderness lost..._

The chamber itself was warm, the bed covered in soft furs. Jeyne admired the flower petals tossed all over the room while Arya mocked them. Beyond that there was a dressing table for her with a washbasin that a servant filled with steaming water. While the girls helped Sansa out of her gown and let down her hair all she could do was stare at the bed.

They were meant to make love there but all she felt was fear.

Everything was moving too quickly, her gown taken away. Her small clothes replaced with a shift far too thin and bearing so much skin she clutched at herself. Her arms and legs were nearly bare, her breasts straining at the top of garment and her back no longer hidden. Arya drew Sansa's hair down so that it hid the brand, the sisters embracing afterwards. She tried to draw as much strength from Arya as she could but there was little time for it. Gendry's voice boomed through the door, announcing that was Jon ascending the keep and would there shortly.

And so they left her. Leaving Sansa alone, barely clothed, and doing her best to breathe normally.

 _Any moment he's going to walk in and see me here. We'll be alone and everything will change._

 _Just like it did with Joffrey. Jon will come in and blame me for the wine. He'll blame me for what I am._

 _He'll hurt me for it…_

The sounds of footfalls in the corridor spurred an urge for her to hide. Sansa looked about the room, panic setting it and only growing worse as she found no place to shelter her. Until she saw her bridal cloak. The black and white cloak Jon had put about her shoulders.

She had felt safe in it and that was what she needed now. So, just as the chamber door began to open, Sansa threw the cloak around herself, hiding her body beneath it. She turned from the door and still did not face it when it shut.

"Sansa." Jon's voice was hoarse. "Sansa I… I must say… the room is very welcoming."

"It is my lord." She spoke to the bed for she had not yet the courage to face him. The cloak could not cover her whole body and much of her front was exposed.

"Are you cold?" He asked, still not having moved from the doorway. "Do you wish me to call for more wood for the hearth? These aren't your chambers and if you're not comfortable…"

"Thank you but it's alright. I'm not cold."

"But you're wearing the cloak still. And you're shivering…"

"I don't mean to... I apologize Jon."

She bit her lip then and finally turned to face him. Jon stood in the doorway, his clothes stained and expression somber. The cloak hid most of her from his sight but when his eyes roamed up her bare legs and tops of her breasts the prince swallowed.

"I didn't think… with the cloak on I thought you hadn't…" Jon rubbed his face and looked away. "You look a vision Sansa. There was no need to go to such trouble on my account."

"It was my duty. I am your wife."

"Yes… yet you shiver." Jon sighed. "You tremble without feeling cold. I can see the reason in your eyes, for it is familiar to me. So Sansa, speak truthfully now. Are you frightened of me?"

"I'm scared." She admitted, shaking her head and pulling tight on the cloak. "I'm just scared… forgive me. Forgive me for acting a child my prince."

"Lord." He corrected her. "Just a lord, you're the only royalty- oh no!"

The sob had escaped her before she could stop it. That small misstep caused the walls to break and her fears to spill out. Already she was a disappointment and he had not seen the worst of her. Jon was coming towards her, hand outstretched as if to help but she jerked back.

Jon stopped in his place. "Sansa… Sansa it is alright. I'm sorry for all this. They forced you didn't they? To marry me? I know you think me a monster but I'm not the kind to-"

"You're not the monster. I am." She wept, watching Jon's confusion grow. "Please my prince… my lord… Jon! Jon don't hate me for what I am. I'll do all I can for you. Whatever duties you ask just don't hate me. Don't hurt me."

"No one will hurt you." Jon raised up his hands. "None. Certainly not me. Sansa when they told me you were… _mistreated_ , the only hatred I felt was for the monsters who could do such a thing. I wanted better for you. Better than me. I'm a monster and you saw that in the Wolfswood. Know I'll never be one to you. For you I'll be more. I swear it."

 _Why does he call himself a monster? How can I deserve better than him?_

"I'll bed on the floor." Jon continued. "For tonight. For every night until you give me leave. If that day never comes then so be it. I swore to spare you from monsters and I'll swear another vow now… ugh."

Jon had been making to kneel when he grunted and grasped at his hurt side. The events of the hall came back to her and suddenly Sansa was beside him. The cloak was forgotten, falling away as she took hold of Jon's arm and helped steady him.

"Has your wound worsened?" She looked to his side and grew worried for it was stained dark, like the rest of his clothes. There was no way to tell if it was blood or wine she was looking at.

"It is no bother." Jon lied horribly, his eyes wide at the sight of Sansa in her shift. "Sansa… your cloak…"

"Your clothes." She corrected, wiping away her tears and pulling at his doublet. "Jon take them off we must see if you are hurt. I've seen wounds fester before and if we aren't careful-"

"As my wife commands." Jon backed away to begin fumbling at the fastenings of his doublet. It did not take long for her to realize his skill with a blade did not extend to dressing.

"Here, let me help."

Sansa's fingers began moving through the loops and ties with ease, ignoring Jon's protests. The memory of Sandor drove her on, her fear of Jon a distant thing compared to her fear for him. When the doublet was off the stained undershirt came next and Jon's upper half was laid bare. Wine glistened over his lean form, darker where his muscle cared lines across his chest. His scars remained, the ones she'd stared at during the wrestling match. Yet it was bruises and cuts from the ambush that stood out to her. No more so than the dark red bandage at his side. Sansa watched with worry as Jon undid it and then exhaled in relief to find the wound there still stitched and not bleeding.

"You'll need a new bandage." She said but Jon was already tearing a strip from a clear part of his undershirt. Sansa could not help but frown at that. "We could've sent for one, there was no need to completely destroy your clothes."

"Force of habit." Jon shrugged. "When the order rides we use what we can. Fear not Sansa, your gown is safe from me."

"Why thank you, Jon. Please don't think to put that bandage on without washing first. There's a basin right here."

She took his hand and led him to the table. She took a cloth in hand and soaked it in the warm water. Yet when she made to press it against Jon's chest he stopped her, holding her wrist in a shy manner.

"I can do this myself Sansa. You need not-"

"Did you not become a mess protecting me?" She asked, cocking her head and putting a hand to her hip. "You drove me off after the ambush, do not think to try the same here. Let me do my duty. Let me tend my husband."

Jon relented, dropped his arms to his sides as Sansa began to move the cloth up and down his body. Moments before she had been weeping but Jon had done nothing to warrant it. Even now, as she soaked his chest in warm water he stood as still as a statue. His eyes trying to stay elsewhere but drifting down to her body now and then.

"I did not drive you off." He spoke defensively. "I thought only to spare you the sight of any more blood. You already saw me at my worst that day."

"Your worst?" The heat of the water felt right considering how her body was warming from touching his. "Jon you acted a gallant prince and I'll hear no argument different. It upset me you would not let me stay at your side… I've seen my fair share of blood…"

"I know." Jon rasped, his jaw clenching with each touch of the cloth. "Forgive me. I am trying to treat you as you deserve and I'm making a mess of it."

"Well messes are easy to clean." She turned to wring out the cloth and was rewarded with a small laugh from her husband. Yet it died away all of a sudden and to her horror she realized her hair had fallen away from her shoulder. The brand was there for Jon to see and he stared at it now.

His face twisted in anger.

"I'm sorry." Sansa dropped the cloth and covered the brand with her hand. "I'm sorry! I was going to wear a veil or keep my hair hiding it… please don't look…

She was backing away when Jon took hold of her arm. Then, slowly, carefully, he laid a hand over the one she used to hide the brand. When he began to pull it away Sansa whimpered in fear and shame. Jon's grey eyes were as sad as ever as he peered down at the ugly stag.

"It's too horrible…" Sansa felt the tears coming again. "It's too ugly…

"Nothing about you could be ugly." Jon's fingers tightened around hers. "What they did, it made them ugly Sansa. Not you. Now that I see this… it is only a reminder of my duty to you. My father sent me to fight for the empire. Robb and I shall shed blood for an alliance. But now I will fight for you. For my wife. I'll make myself worthy of you."

It was all lies. It had to be. Yet everything she'd seen of Jon made him a terrible liar. Others would recoil in disgust at the sight of her brand yet he looked at it with a deep sadness. Like mother would look after she visited the crypts. Sansa wasn't prepared for this. Nor when one of Jon's fingers left her hand and moved across her scarred flesh. She shivered at how gently it was done and how good his touch felt.

Yet Jon took that tremble the wrong way. His finger pulled away and he might have done the same had she not held firm

"Forgive me." Jon beseeched her. "I swore not to touch you. I had no right Sansa, no right and I beg you-"

"I welcome it." Sansa said, wishing to feel his touch again. "Please don't scorn me now… not after saying such kind things."

"I'd not scorn you. It's not about that… I just won't take liberties with you. Not when you've been forced into wedding me-"

"And I won't force you to hold me… but if you did, I would welcome it. I would."

Jon seemed torn then, his eyes searching hers for something Sansa hoped she could give. She took a small step forward, bringing them a bit closer, hoping Jon could accept that. He did more than accept it, his strong arms moving around her and pulling her body against his. Her brow rested against his cheek. Her breasts against his bare chest. Her hands at his shoulders. His hands pressing against her back. She could feel his heart beating and wondered if he could feel hers.

They stayed like that for some time. She couldn't say how long. His embrace was much like the bridal cloak. It was strong yet soft. They fit well.

When Jon's lips moved to kiss her brow a sigh escaped her.

"Was that alright?" He asked when she made to gaze up at her.

"It could have been better." She teased with a smile. "In the songs a bride is kissed-"

Jon kissed her lips then. His beard rubbing against her face as his lips slide over hers. They were warm and full, the feel of them sending a shudder through her. It felt so good to be kissed again her breathing was heavy when he pulled away.

"I hope that was better." Jon smiled down at her and she basked in that.

"It was… might we keep trying though?"

She was rewarded with another smile and then another kiss. This one she met halfway. It was all very innocent at first. Lips pressing to lips, hands staying put and yet gripping tighter and tighter. Yet soon the hands began to roam, hers to Jon's face and strong shoulders. His up and down her back, sliding to her arse and causing her to laugh. That might have broken the kiss had her body not pressed hard against his.

Somewhere the fear still lingered. Rattling its cage and wishing to be free again. To grab hold of her mind and tell her things were as they had been. Yet Jon's touch proved that all to be a terrible lie. One she no longer wished to cling to. She moaned and he grunted. Her leg rose up against his and his hand cupped her breast. That part wasn't gentle but she had no need for it to be. The way his thumb rubbed across her nipple bringing forth another moan.

In her mind it was Jon that led them to the bed but she suspected that tale might not hold the full truth. Where Sansa should be wringing her hands a wicked woman had taken her place and unhooked Jon's breeches. A wanton one who let the straps of her shift be slipped off, so that the garment crumpled on the floor.

It was only when Sansa found herself laying back upon the bed, naked and stretched out on the furs for Jon to gaze upon, that the frightened girl returned. Her hands moved to cover her smaller scars but the sight of Jon half bent over and struggling with his breeches caused her to laugh.

"I must work on my dismount." He rasped when he finally freed himself.

When he turned his eyes went wide at the sight of her nakedness. Her nipples were hard and while she kept her legs together his gaze fell to the auburn thatch of hair bout her sex. Sansa only caught this in flashes for she was taking in the sight of him a well. His cock was large and thick, not so big as to worry her though. She felt its hardness touch her leg as Jon climbed up the bed. If he cared for her scars he did not show it, too intent on kissing her again.

"Jon…" She sighed, her hips pressing up at him and his hand moving down her body. "Jon… Jon… I'm no maiden…"

"Oh… me neither…" Jon did not even slow his kisses along her neck. That he brushed off her admission so easily made Sansa tear up.

"Thank you." She grabbed at his face, forcing him to look at her. "Thank you for being a good man."

"I will be one." He said, his no longer as sad as they'd been. "I meant all I said… I'll be worthy of you Sansa. I will be. Worthy of being yours."

She did not weep. She did not fear. When her legs spread and Jon moved between them it was what she wanted. Her words that bid him to push within and her voice that whispered.

"I am yours."

 _And he is mine._


End file.
